


What We May Be

by Ameera, NoOneKnowsIWriteThis



Series: Garashir Age Swap AU [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Earn Your Happy Ending, Garak's standard suite of issues, If it happens in the show it might be mentioned here, M/M, Older Bashir, Series Rewrite, Slow Burn, Younger Garak, despite Bashir's best efforts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 116,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10441227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameera/pseuds/Ameera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoOneKnowsIWriteThis/pseuds/NoOneKnowsIWriteThis
Summary: Garak was a young Obsidian Order agent assigned to keep an eye on the Starfleet command at Deep Space 9. He wasn't planning to make the station's middle aged doctor his Starfleet contact, and he definitely wasn't planning to fall in love with the man.Garashir Age Swap AU





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:  
> This post: http://tallvenusian.tumblr.com/post/104939039578/ok-but-ageswapped-garashir-mature-super-suave  
> This picture: http://maketreknotwar.tumblr.com/post/85295309398/ageswap-garakbashir-ageswap-garakbashir  
> This picture: http://anna-lord.tumblr.com/post/124580245110/artprompt-how-about-ageswap-garak-and-bashir  
> And parts of this post: http://thornfield13713.tumblr.com/post/157752674938/if-youre-still-doing-5-headcanons-can-you-do-one

Garak's shop had only been open for a few hours, but he'd already had more curious passersby ducking in to take a look than he'd had for the previous month combined. That was only to be expected, he reminded himself. The Bajorans were inclined to give him a wide berth, and the Federation personnel that were joining the station's crew had only started arriving a week ago, which meant that his mission would soon begin in earnest. Tain hadn't sent him to this station just to hem trousers. It was his duty to keep an eye on the situation on Bajor, Terok- Deep Space 9, and the Federation presence, token as it was, though the appearance of the wormhole had added a new importance to the post.

Thinking of the Federation reminded Garak that he'd soon have to start making connections and finding contacts, which meant he'd probably have to make a point to frequent Quark's or the new Federation Replimat more often. After all it wasn't like the perfect candidate would just walk into his shop.

As if on cue, the door slid open, alerting the young spy to the presence of a customer. He was a Starfleet officer, science or medical judging by the color of his uniform. He was tall and thin with tan skin. He had a salt and pepper beard and a touch of gray hair just below his temples that lent him a sense of gravitas which ran counter to the gleeful twinkle in his eyes. He was one of the most beautiful creatures Garak had ever seen.

“Can I help you, sir?” Garak asked, putting on his most eager to please smile.

The officer smiled at him and Garak could almost feel the chill of the station fade.

“Oh, I'm just exploring the Promenade, getting to know the station.” He chuckled softly before continuing. “Though I dare say I'll need your help sooner or later as my fashion sense is terribly lacking.”

“I'd be delighted to assist in any way I can,” Garak answered, bowing his head slightly.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” the officer announced as he strolled over to Garak's work table. “I'm Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer for this station.”

Garak nodded, then responded, “My name is Garak. I'm a tailor by trade, and a Cardassian by birth, obviously.” That drew a quiet laugh out of the human.

“Well, Mister Garak-”

“No, no,” the Cardassian cut him off. “Just plain, simple Garak.” Bashir's eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Well, plain, simple Garak,” he paused, smirking at the younger man. “If you're ever unwell, please stop by the infirmary. I'm responsible for the health and well-being of everyone aboard this station, even Cardassian tailors.” Garak took a moment to consider the human's statement.

“Thank you, Doctor, but considering how little the Federation knows about Cardassian biology, I doubt you could be of much help if I were ill.” He tilted his head and offered an apologetic look to soften the rejection. No, Garak would not be going to an infirmary run by the enemy if he could avoid it.

“I could do a full physical so I have a baseline to compare any illnesses to, at least. I'd love to learn more about Cardassian physiology,” Bashir blurted out before stopping abruptly. He chuckled sheepishly and ran his hand over his face. “I'm sorry, that was very rude of me. I have a tendency to get overexcited about new learning opportunities.” Bashir leaned in conspiratorially over the table and said in a low tone, “The Bajoran liaison nearly threw me out of an airlock when I commented about preferring the frontier to central Federation space. I definitely should have phrased that better.”

Garak laughed a bit as a wry grin spread across the doctor's face. Bashir let out a sigh and straightened up.

“I need to get to Ops, but it was lovely meeting you, Mister Garak,” Garak opened his mouth to protest the title when Bashir's hand was placed on top of his own and he found the doctor's warm eyes gazing into his own. Garak was so overwhelmed he nearly missed it when the doctor spoke, “I look forward to seeing you again.”

And with that, Bashir was gone. Garak nearly collapsed onto his table as he willed his heartbeat back under control.

_This is ridiculous_ , Garak scolded himself. He was a trained agent of the Obsidian Order. He was here for a mission from Enabran Tain himself. He would not be distracted by a human. He would not be compromised by _sentiment_.

–

Jadzia immediately noticed when Julian strolled into Ops with a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye, but she waited until after the meeting was finished to confront him about it.

“Who is it?” she asked, pulling him aside so they could talk.

“Who's who?” He was either genuinely confused or playing innocent, something he was surprisingly good at. She sighed.

“Who's the person you've got your eye on now?” He blanched, his eyes darting around for an escape. Unfortunately, no rescue was coming.

“Look, you can either tell me now or I'll hunt around the station to figure it out. It's your choice,” Jadzia offered. Julian sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine, I'll tell you, but keep it to yourself. I don't want this all over the station,” he answered with a stern look.

“What don't you want all over the station?” Sisko asked, sliding in neatly next to Jadzia.

Julian groaned and leaned his head against the wall.

“Someone's caught Julian's eye,” Jadzia sang teasingly. Sisko chuckled.

“You certainly don't waste time, Doctor. You've only been on this station for what? Four days?” Sisko grinned.

“Four and a half,” was the response half muffled by the wall.

“Julian has always worked fast, Ben,” Jadzia smirked. “Remember your wedding? He managed to get rejected by the entire wedding party by the time the rehearsal was over, and then he spent the reception alternating between trying to flirt with Curzon and asking questions about Trill physiology.”

“I wasn't rejected by the entire wedding party!” Julian protested, whirling away from the wall to glare at them. “Adrian and I had a wonderful night together. Besides I was newly divorced and at a wedding, those are hardly fair circumstances to judge me on.”

“Anyway, who are you interested in now?” Jadzia said, directing the conversation back to the original topic. Sisko looked at the doctor expectantly. There was no way for him to get out of this. Julian sighed.

“Alright, alright. Just...keep it to yourselves. I don't even know if it's going to go anywhere yet.” He glanced at his two friends. They nodded, prompting him to continue. “It's Garak, the Cardassian tailor who's probably a spy.” When he wasn't met with an immediate response, Julian kept going, “I think he's cute. We'll see how it goes.”

Jadzia cooed, which Julian responded to with a roll of his eyes. After a moment's thought, Sisko spoke, “You don't need me to tell you to be careful with that one.” Julian nodded.

“I'll take care, Ben.” Sisko smiled.

“That's all I ask.” With that Sisko left for his office.

Julian took one glance at Jadzia's face before announcing, “I'm heading to the infirmary,” and leaving as well. Jadzia chuckled and headed back to her station in Ops.

–

Garak observed the other diners at the Replimat over the top of his PADD. He was exploring his options for potential Starfleet contacts. Yes, the doctor was intriguing and they'd had a strong first interaction, but he was older, more experienced, less malleable. Besides, his mission was tricky enough without the distraction the doctor provided. Unfortunately for Garak, none of the Starfleet personnel seemed approachable at that moment. He sighed. It looked like today would be a bust as well. Then suddenly a gentle voice interrupted Garak's thinking.

“Mind if I join you?”

Garak looked up to see the smiling face of Doctor Bashir.

“I-” he started. His first instinct was to retreat, put a defensive wall between himself and this distracting creature. But he did need to start making Federation contacts, and, if these two interactions were anything to go by, Doctor Bashir didn't seem like the type to be easily dissuaded. _Perhaps I can use this_ , Garak mused.

“Please,” he responded with a polite smile, gesturing to the empty chair. Bashir quickly placed his tray on the table and sat down. He gave Garak another smile and took a sip from his steaming mug.

“The Tarkalean tea here is excellent. Would you like some?” he offered, tilting his mug towards the Cardassian. Garak tilted his head.

“No, thank you. I prefer red leaf tea.”

“Is that a Cardassian beverage?” Bashir asked. Garak nodded. Bashir mulled this over for a moment, then said, “I'll have to try it some time. I've only been here a couple weeks, but Bajoran moba jam has already won me over.”

Garak gave a small smile and worked to form some questions as the doctor quickly started eating his food, but Bashir spoke again before he got the chance to ask them.

“What are you reading?” he inquired, gesturing to Garak's PADD with his fork, “Top secret government files?” He gave the Cardassian a teasing smirk. Garak felt his stomach drop. The doctor knew, and if the doctor knew that probably meant Commander Sisko knew. Obfuscate! his mind shrieked at him.

“Doctor,” he purred, laying on the charm, “surely you don't believe the rumors that I'm a spy? The Bajorans see spies and war criminals in every Cardassian. I thought you smarter than to put stock in station gossip.” Bashir rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at Garak nonetheless.

“Right, right. You're just plain, simple Garak,” he said, amused. Garak sighed. Perhaps a bit of truth would work here.

“For your information, I'm reading _The Never Ending Sacrifice_. It's one of the greatest works of Cardassian literature ever penned.” It was true enough; that was what was on the PADD, and he had been rereading it...just not at that moment.

“So is it any good?” Bashir pushed his empty tray aside and leaned forward.

“I just said it's one of the greatest works of Cardassian literature.”

“Ah, but something can be a great work without being good,” Bashir countered. Garak tensed. Did the doctor know what he was doing? Did he understand how engaging in such a deliberately contrarian debate would come across to a Cardassian?

“Perhaps you should read it for yourself,” Garak replied, attempting to disengage. Bashir's confident smile told him that he'd probably failed in that aim.

“Could we talk about it over lunch next week? I'd hate to misinterpret the work because of cultural differences.”

Garak considered this. Literature was not exactly what he'd want to discuss with a Federation officer, but it would at least start a conversation and perhaps help him build a rapport with the doctor. Doctor Bashir still wasn't his ideal choice for a Starfleet contact, but he was part of the senior staff and friends with Commander Sisko, so he was certainly well-placed to hear useful information.

“Of course, Doctor. It would be a shame for you to fail to appreciate the novel because you lack the proper context,” Garak answered with a polite smile, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Excellent!” the doctor exclaimed, gathering up his tray and standing to leave. He paused for a moment, hovering next to Garak. Then he placed his free hand on the edge of the Cardassian's shoulder, far enough from the neck ridges that it wasn't completely scandalous, but definitely forward and definitely flirtatious unless Human physical interaction differed from Cardassian even more than Garak had previously thought. As if to drive the contact home, Bashir squeezed his shoulder gently.

“I'm delighted I'll be getting to know you better,” he said in a low voice. Then he left, leaving a stunned Cardassian in his wake.


	2. Past Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My AU version of 1x03 - Past Prologue - Garak helps Bashir uncover the schemes of some Bajoran terrorists.

Garak tried to feign nonchalance as he waited for the doctor to arrive for their lunch. He'd made no progress with any other members of Starfleet, so Doctor Bashir remained his only option for this matter. Besides, whatever Tahna Los and the Duras sisters were involved with had led to two more members of the Kohn-Ma arriving on the station, which meant Commander Sisko needed this information urgently. While this would make his true purpose on Deep Space 9 more apparent, it should help ingratiate him with Starfleet.

Finally Doctor Bashir appeared, his face lighting up as he spotted Garak.

“Hello, Garak,” the doctor greeted as he sat down. “How are you today?”

“Being observant, Doctor.” Bashir raised an eyebrow at the change from the usual pleasantries.

“I'm sure of it,” he replied lightly. Garak suppressed the urge to sigh.

“There's a time for levity and a time for genuine concern.” Garak gestured subtly with his head. “For example, the arrival of those terrorists.”

Bashir turned completely around to get a better look. Garak did sigh this time, the Human was not subtle, though he did at least make it look like he was surveying the whole promenade and didn't immediately turn back around after spotting the men Garak had indicated.

“You're concerned about the Kohn-Ma?” he asked, his face serious. Garak responded with a small smile and a slight nod. They sat in silence for a moment, Bashir's expression grim, before Garak abruptly shifted the conversation.

“Doctor, I think it's time for you to take advantage of my shop,” he said with sudden lightness, nodding firmly. Bashir looked up at him, confusion from the shift in topic clear on his face.“Yes, come by at exactly 2055 tonight. I have a suit that should go wonderfully with your coloring.”

Bashir's face slowly broke into a grin, though there was still a hint of confusion in his eyes. He leaned forward.

“A suit, Garak?” Garak shifted back, away from the doctor.

“Doctor, this is strictly business,” he replied, tilting his head toward the terrorists. The doctor's eyes darted towards where the Kohn-Ma were still standing, but he resisted the urge to actually turn and look.

“Ah.” Bashir leaned back and gave Garak a soft smile. “Just doing your part to protect people from my dreadful fashion choices?” Garak nodded.

“Exactly so.”

“2055 tonight?”

“Mhmm.”

“Right,” Bashir declared, standing up. “I'll see you then.”

–

Bashir held back the urge to sprint to Ops. _This is just a normal day. I'm not working with a Cardassian spy to stop Bajoran terrorists. No need to rush._

“Commander Sisko!” he called out as soon as the doors opened. Sisko nodded at him. Kira, who'd been talking with the commander, took one look at Bashir and left. Bashir hurried to where she'd been standing.

“Yes, Doctor?” Sisko greeted, picking up on his barely suppressed urgency.

“Garak's concerned about the Kohn-Ma,” he explained. Sisko took this in, clearly forcing a neutral look onto his face.

“It's natural that the station's only Cardassian resident would be concerned about a Bajoran extremist group,” Sisko said carefully, but his expression told Bashir that he was definitely open to hearing more information.

“Yes, but-” Bashir stopped. Garak had hinted that he'd give Bashir information, but he hadn't actually said anything.

“Doctor?”

“He, uh... He wants me to buy a suit,” Bashir finished sheepishly. Sisko gave him a look.

“A suit?”

“At exactly 2055,” Bashir explained. “I think he wants me to see something then.” Sisko nodded.

“Tell me what you find out.”

–

Bashir rushed into Garak's shop two minutes late. The Cardassian immediately rushed over and started shepherding him toward one of the fitting rooms.

“You're late, Doctor,” he hissed, shoving a jacket into the other man's hands.

“I-” Bashir started to protest, but was silenced by a look from Garak.

“Now, try that on as many times as you like, and stay very, very quiet.” Garak pushed him into the fitting room and drew the curtain.

Bashir listened carefully to the discussion between Garak and the two Klingons, then waited, even after he heard the women leave and the door slide shut, for Garak to tell him it was all clear. The curtain was pulled open to reveal the Cardassian, a rare serious look on his face. Bashir pushed aside all the other things he wanted to ask, and instead voiced the most urgent question on his mind.

“What's bilitrium?”

“A rare crystalline element, that can be an incredibly powerful source of energy. Provided, of course, one also has an anti-matter converter. Unfortunately-”

“Let me guess,” Bashir interrupted. “Tahna Los already has one.”

“Stolen,” Garak answered. “It's why that Cardassian ship was chasing him when he arrived.”

Bashir's face fell.

“I need to tell Sisko immediately.” He hesitated for a moment, looking at the door before his gaze switched back to Garak.

“Thank you for your help, Garak,” he said earnestly. The Cardassian bowed his head, half out of modesty and half as an attempt to obscure the genuine smile that was growing across his face.

With a quick smile, Bashir was off.

–

A few days after the incident with Tahna Los, Bashir walked into Garak's shop with some clothes folded over his arm and a PADD. Garak looked up and smiled, a bit warmer than his usual customer service smile, but he always felt a bit warmer in the doctor's presence.

“Welcome, Doctor,” he greeted. “Can I help you with something or is this a social visit?” Bashir crossed the room and lay the clothes and the PADD on Garak's work table.

“I need your help heading off a pair of fashion catastrophes,” Bashir answered with a wry smile.

“By all means!” Garak replied, hoping he sounded light and teasing and not breathlessly eager.

“Well first,” the doctor laid out the outfit he'd brought in, “I could use a new tuxedo. This one has seen better days.” He took the PADD and handed it to the other man. “ _That_ has some references so you know what I want, including the replicator pattern that I got this one from.” He waited as Garak glanced through the materials on the PADD. After a few brief moments the Cardassian finished his skimming.

“And the other pending catastrophe?” he prompted.

“Ah, well,” Bashir chuckled. “Apparently the Bajorans will be holding a Gratitude Festival in a few months so I need something for that.” Garak gave him a thoughtful look.

“Did you have something specific in mind?”

You judgment here is better than mine,” Bashir answered. “Although I would like it to be sort of a royal purple or blue.” Garak raised an eye ridge and the doctor responded with a defensive look.

“Can't a man have a favorite color?” he grumbled.

“Of course,” Garak replied, laying the PADD on the table, “but you have to pick ones that are so...intense.” Bashir huffed and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep a smile from spreading across his face. After a moment, Garak spoke again, “I'm going to need to take your measurements. If you could just stand over here, I'll be able to measure you right away.”


	3. If Wishes Were Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers episode 1x16 - If Wishes Were Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several of you wanted a fitting scene, so I might write one up as a bonus side story. I read all of your comments (often over and over again) even if I don't reply that much. I'm so glad you're all enjoying this story.

It had been an exciting morning in Ops already. Rumpelstiltskin was following Chief O'Brien, a famous baseball player was following Ben, apparently snow had appeared on the Promenade, and judging by the constant cheers of victory coming from Quark's imagination was at work there too.

Bashir just counted his lucky stars that he hadn't had anything from his imagination appear. He could guess how that would turn out, with him walking into Ops with a Bond girl at his side or, more embarrassing, his ex-wife Palis. _Better not to think so much now,_ he mentally scolded himself.

As he walked towards the Replimat he noticed that Garak's shop was dark. He went to take a closer look and peered inside, but the store seemed to be empty. _Perhaps a trip to check on my Cardassian friend would be wise,_ Bashir mused. And if he was very lucky maybe he'd get a glimpse at one of the tailor's fantasies.

That's how Doctor Bashir found himself waiting eagerly outside of Garak's quarters, trying very hard not to imagine how the situation would go forward. The door slid open to reveal Garak, with a surprisingly warm expression on his face that was quickly schooled into cool politeness. Garak glanced back into the room at a much older and much larger Cardassian man, before stepping out to join the doctor in the hallway, letting the door slide shut behind him.

“Well, Doctor?” he asked, there was an unusual coldness underlying his words. The grin fell from Bashir's face.

“I-I came to see how you were doing,” he explained. “The station's full of illusions, of...fantasies come to life...” Garak glared at him.

“And you thought you'd come here and find me in some compromising position, is that it?” Garak's stare was icy, none of the nervous joy that lit his gaze in their previous interactions was present.

“I...” Bashir let the sentence drop. Denial and lies wouldn't help him here. He took a deep breath and started again, “A little, maybe, but I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He forced himself to look Garak in the eyes. “You're my friend, Garak. I care about you.” Garak's expression softened slightly, though it was still cool.

“You should go, Doctor.”

“Will you be alright?” Bashir asked anxiously. He was still concerned about how coldly Garak was treating him, and if that other Cardassian had caused it.

Garak considered the doctor's question and how to answer the concerns that Bashir was projecting, but not voicing.

“He's my mentor. I'll be fine,” he answered softly. Trying to keep the sorrow he felt out of his voice, he said, “It's just an illusion.” He tried to plead with his eyes for the doctor to just leave without pushing any further. Bashir's face drew closed, but he nodded.

“Just...let me know if you need me,” Bashir offered. Garak nodded, knowing he would not take that offer.

The doctor gave him a sheepish look and finally, _mercifully,_ left.

Garak sighed and went back into his quarters. Enabrain Tain sat in the chair where Garak had left him.

“Who was that?” the illusion of the spymaster asked, as if Tain wouldn't already know. But Tain would have likely feigned ignorance too.

“Doctor Julian Bashir, lieutenant commander, chief medical officer for Deep Space 9,” Garak reported.

“That's an interesting choice you've made,” Tain commented.

“He's part of the senior staff, and he's been friends with Commander Sisko for years,” Garak justified. He could feel himself tensing under Tain's stare.

“Hmm...” Tain continued to stare. Garak resisted the urge to prompt him, to move the conversation forward.

“Well, you're experienced enough to choose contacts wisely,” Tain stated abruptly. Garak blinked.

“And he certainly seems attached if he's coming to your _quarters_ to check on you.” Tain raised an eye ridge. Garak kept his face impassive, a task that was likely meaningless as Tain was one of the few who was observant enough and knew him well enough to catch the tiniest unconscious movements.

“Well done, son,” Tain said finally. Garak flinched. Sometimes the illusion acted so much like the actual Cardassian spymaster that it was easy to forget it wasn't real, and then he'd say things that Tain never would.

–

A few days after the imagination incident, Garak and Bashir met for their usual weekly lunch.

“Were you alright?” Bashir asked softly. “After I left?” Garak bit back a sigh. He didn't want to discuss this with the doctor, but it seemed like there was no avoiding the topic. Bashir could be very persistent when he set his mind to it.

“Perfectly fine, Doctor,” he answered lightly. “It was only an illusion, after all.” Bashir snorted.

“Well, an illusion nearly destroyed the station.”

“Did it really?” Garak eagerly grabbed onto the new topic. Bashir rolled his eyes.

“As if you didn't know,” he said, smirking. “You said the one in your quarters was of your mentor?” Bashir dragged the conversation back to where he wanted it, hiding a smug grin behind his mug.

“Indeed,” Garak replied neutrally, continuing to eat with a well-practiced nonchalance. Bashir looked as if he'd backed the Cardassian into a corner.

“Your mentor in tailoring...or _spying?_ ” he accused playfully. Garak rolled his eyes dramatically.

“ _Really_ , Doctor, you are determined to believe the worst of me,” he teased back, giving the doctor a sly look.

He caught Bashir suppressing a sigh and smiled to himself. He may have been initially thrown off by the intensity of his feelings towards Bashir, but now he could give as good as he got. And if he felt warmer in the doctor's presence, well the station was cold for Cardassians, and Humans radiated body heat. It was basic thermodynamics, nothing to do with emotion.

“Oh, Garak,” Bashir started suddenly, “are you free tomorrow night?”

“Why?”

“Shakespeare is better heard than read, and I managed to get a holosuite program that's a performance of _Much Ado About Nothing_. Since you've already read it, I thought you might like to actually see the play.” Bashir smiled invitingly at him. Garak gave him a long look before answering.

“Alright, Doctor, in the interest of better understanding your Earth literature, I accept.”

“Excellent!” Bashir exclaimed. “Though I still can't believe your favorite character is Don John.”

“Why not?” Garak asked, smirking. “He manipulates nearly the entire cast to his ends while the so-called heroes are focused on a matchmaking scheme.” Garak paused, bowing his head in concession. “Though I must admit, the accidental unraveling of his scheme by the bumbling constables is an important reminder to take care of any loose ends.” He gave a sinister smile in response to Bashir's scandalized expression.

“Garak!” Bashir hissed at him. Garak smirked, which turned into a teasing smile. He was about to respond when the doctor's com badge chirped.

“Damn,” Bashir cursed softly. “Sorry, I've got to get back to the infirmary. I'll see you tomorrow at 2100 in Quark's?” He stood up and gathered his dishes.

“Of course,” Garak answered, also rising. “And, Doctor? Make sure you wear something that's not an eyesore.”

The doctor chuckled as he left.


	4. Cardassians - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of episode 2x05 - Cardassians

It wasn't until Rugal had been safely delivered to Keiko that Bashir finally went to Garak's shop, medkit and dermal regenerator in hand, to take care of his friend. Garak had not only refused to be treated by anyone else, but he'd also refused to wait in the infirmary for Bashir to finish his investigation with Sisko. Instead he'd retreated to his shop on the pretense of having an urgent commission to finish.

Once inside the shop, Bashir quickly switched into doctor mode: sitting Garak on a stool and giving him a quick once-over with the tricorder before he started fixing the Cardassian's hand. Garak grumbled through the medical scans.

“Actually, something good did come out of all of this, Garak,” Bashir said, putting on his best polite doctor smile as he repaired the other's hand.

“Oh?” Garak replied with a roll of his eyes.

“If it hadn't happened, we never would have discovered Rugal's situation. We're still investigating, but that bite on your hand might have saved the boy's life. Isn't that worthwhile?” He put down the regenerator and examined his work.

“I suppose it depends on whose hand,” Garak replied, snapping his newly healed hand around the doctor's. Bashir's eyes shot to examine Garak's suddenly cold expression. After a moment, his point made, Garak released Bashir's hand.

“Only joking, Doctor,” he teased with a smile, taking a small amount of pride in the sigh of relief Bashir let out as he stepped back.

“Yes, well,” the doctor fumbled briefly, “Gul Dukat thinks this might help him resolve the entire war orphan predicament.” Garak instantly perked up.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, prompting the doctor to explain.

“Gul Dukat. He called Commander Sisko right after this happened. Apparently he was quite concerned with your well-being. You never mentioned you were friends.”

Garak started to laugh darkly, causing Bashir to jump. Garak smiled knowingly at him and raised an eye ridge.

“You said Dukat is doing something about war orphans?” he asked, smothering the urge to laugh again. Bashir looked at him with wariness in his eyes.

“He said he wants to bring them all home from Bajor,” the doctor answered carefully.

“Did he,” Garak replied flatly. Bashir paused, thinking for a moment.

“I'm missing something, aren't I?”

Garak grinned at him.

“Tell me, Doctor. Is there a single trait would you ascribe to me and to my fellow Cardassians? Would it not be our attention to detail? Do you think we simply forgot about those poor little orphans when we left Bajor? Do you think they simply slipped from our minds? And who would you guess was in charge of the Cardassian withdrawal from Bajor?”

Bashir's eyes slowly widened.

“I've got to get to Ops,” he gasped before rushing off.

–

When Bashir entered Ops, Dukat was already on the viewscreen, so he went ahead and asked Dukat to clarify a few things about the withdrawal from Bajor. Dukat quickly lay the blame for abandoning the orphans with the civilian leaders, then ended the transmission.

“Ben, he's lying!” Bashir exclaimed, turning quickly to Sisko. Sisko gave him a wry look.

“Is that an opinion, or do you have evidence to support it?”

“Well...” he hesitated. “It's Garak.”

“Garak,” Sisko repeated, half sighing.

“He thinks there's more going on than we realize.”

“What exactly does he think is going on?” Sisko asked firmly. Bashir suddenly looked sheepish.

“I'm not sure. He doesn't actually tell me what he really thinks. I sort of have to deduce it.”

“So, you deduced that Garak thinks Dukat is lying about something you're not sure of and you proceeded to interrupt my conversation to confront him about whatever that may be.” Sisko fixed Bashir with a weary glare, the sort that the father of a teenager had long ago perfected.

“I'm sorry, Ben. Commander,” he said, stammering out an apology. “It just seemed an opportune-”

“Don't apologize,” Sisko cut him off. Bashir lifted his gaze off the floor and looked at his friend.

“It's been the high point of my day. Don't do it again,” Sisko finished with a warning, no less serious for its lightness of tone. Bashir grinned.

“No, sir!” he answered happily.

Jadzia took advantage of the moment to slide into the conversation.

“Julian, why would Garak want to undermine Gul Dukat?” she asked.

_That's a good question,_ Bashir thought to himself. He quickly reviewed his memory to see if he could pick up on any definite reason that Garak would work against Gul Dukat in this instance. All he could come up with was a vague feeling that politics and intrigue were at play and that Garak's reaction to the idea of being friends with Dukat was an indication of Garak's actual feelings about the Gul.

“I'm not really sure,” Bashir admitted, adding, “I don't think he likes Dukat very much.” He shrugged, Jadzia nodded, and Sisko looked thoughtful.

“I'd like to ask Garak about this myself. Have him in my office at 2100 hours,” Sisko ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Bashir replied with a smile.

–

Garak left Sisko's office at 2200 hours. He'd managed to head off most of the Commander's questions before they got to any valuable information. He explained to the Commander that he and Dukat were on different sides of a Cardassian political divide, which was true enough: the Obsidian Order and the Cardassian military often butted heads, especially when it came to the question of who was in charge.

When Sisko asked if there was a personal animosity between them, Garak willingly admitted that Dukat blamed him for the downfall of his father. Dukat certainly made no secret of it. Sisko had pressed the point and Garak had explained that he'd turned over some evidence that Dukat's father had been working against Cardassian interests to serve his own ambition. He'd quipped that Dukat blamed him for revealing the crime, rather than blame his father for committing it. Sisko had accepted the answer, even if it hadn't fully satisfied him.

Then Sisko had started talking to him about Bashir.

Sisko had made polite small talk about what he'd heard from the doctor about their literary discussions and complimented the outfits Garak had made for Bashir. The Commander had joked that the doctor's style was all his own and that he hoped Garak wouldn't judge all Human's based on Julian's poor taste. Garak had reassured him that he was well aware that Bashir was an outlier for Human fashion.

Sisko shifted the conversation slightly so that he was asking about Garak and Garak's feelings towards the doctor. Garak had deflected, naturally, though he made sure to impress upon Sisko that he definitely liked the doctor and enjoyed the man's company. Sisko had given him a long and thoughtful stare. After what had felt like an age, the Commander had let him go.

Garak headed back to his quarters, weighing over his options all the while. He could duck out of the investigation here and leave it to Sisko and Bashir to sort out, but they would likely overlook details by failing to scheme like a Cardassian. If Dukat was pushing this as hard as it seemed from Bashir's description, there had to be some ulterior motive at play.

No, Garak had to stay involved, or at least informed. So he hurried back to his quarters and began to dig for information.

A few hours later he had the name and location of the orphanage Rugal had been in, but he couldn't access their records remotely, which meant he would have to go down to Bajor if he wanted more information, an idea he did not relish.

His computer chirped to let him know that the alert he'd placed for any word about Rugal on Cardassia was paying off. The boy's DNA test had found a match: Kotan Pa'Dar, one of the most notable civilian leaders. Now that _was_ interesting.

Garak sprang to his feet. It was time to have some fun with the doctor.

–

Garak stealthily made his way to the doctor's quarters and pressed the chime. He waited briefly for a response before hitting the chime again. When there was still no response, he considered his options. If Doctor Bashir wasn't answering his door he either wasn't in or he was asleep. Regardless, Garak keyed in his override and stepped inside with only the swish of the door to announce his presence.

He moved through the darkness to the bedroom door and silently slipped through that as well.

The doctor lay in a bed large enough to hold two people comfortably, with only the starlight from the window shining on him. Bashir for once looked calm and peaceful, not the calm, knowledgeable doctor expression Garak had seen him wear for his patients, but a genuine calm from the peaceful sleep of an innocent.

Garak slid closer. His eyes lingered on the other's rarely displayed collarbones before he forced himself to blink.

He placed a hand on Bashir's upper arm and shook him gently. The doctor blinked slowly into consciousness, then jerked back as he processed the situation.

“Garak?” he asked, his mind still sluggish from sleep.

“Come, Doctor. Get dressed. We need to be going,” Garak answered, deliberately vague.

“Going where?” the doctor returned, his voice half slipping into a whine.

“Bajor,” Garak replied, grinning knowingly.

–

And that was all it took to get Bashir out of bed, standing in his uniform outside of Commander Sisko's quarters.

“Sorry to bother you so late, Ben,” he apologized. Sisko, clearly annoyed at having been pulled out of bed, sighed.

“I take it this couldn't wait 'til morning...” Sisko said, fixing him with a light glare.

“I need to use a runabout...” Bashir hesitated, knowing how this would sound. “Ben, it's Garak. He wants to go to Bajor. I _think_ it's related to Rugal.”

“You _think?_ ” Sisko echoed wearily.

“...He won't tell me,” Bashir mumbled. Sisko rolled his eyes.

“Oh, well, by all means. Will one runabout be enough?” he replied half sarcastically. Bashir opened his mouth to keep explaining, but was interrupted by a woman's voice.

“Ops to Sisko.”

Sisko very deliberately gave Bashir a worn out look before answering, “Go ahead.”

“Commander, there's an urgent communication for you from Gul Dukat.”

Sisko and Bashir both immediately became more alert. Sisko strolled to the terminal in his quarters, giving Bashir plenty of time to move into the room but out of view from the screen. Sisko nodded at the doctor before answering.

Gul Dukat explained that there had been a DNA match for Rugal's father, and that the man was already on his way to the station. Dukat and Sisko went back and forth for a bit until Sisko finally ended the conversation.

“Garak knew!” Bashir quietly exclaimed. “That's why he woke me up. But what could he be looking for on Bajor?” Sisko gave him a tired, wry smile.

“Well, Doctor, I guess there's only one way to find out."


	5. Cardassians - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of episode 2x05 - Cardassians

Bashir slept in one of the bunks on the runabout so he was actually somewhat rested when they entered Bajor's atmosphere, though he was still running on more raktajino than he would have liked. After a quick breakfast with more eating than talking, and Garak staying smugly silent about what they were looking for, the two beamed down and walked to a dilapidated building.

Bashir walked beside Garak as they entered the courtyard, but the children still scattered at the sight of the Cardassian. A Bajoran woman looked curiously at them, her hostility towards Garak controlled, but not hidden.

Bashir wondered briefly how odd this must look: a Starfleet officer and a Cardassian entering a Bajoran orphanage side by side. What did this woman think their relationship was? Bashir pushed the intrusive thoughts about his lack of a relationship with Garak to the side and set about working towards their purpose here.

“Excuse me, is this the Tozhat Resettlement Center?” he asked, his tone very polite.

“Yes...” the woman replied, her rising pitch turning her answer into its own inquiry.

“I'm Doctor Bashir from the Federation command at Deep Space 9. I'm trying to find some information about a Cardassian war orphan who was placed for adoption here,” he introduced, purposefully leaving Garak's identity and purpose vague.

The woman glared at Garak.

“Yes, the Bajorans have opened their hearts to many of the abandoned children...” she said with a touch of hostility. Bashir stepped forward, deliberately coming between her and Garak.

“The boy's name is Rugal. The Bajoran who adopted him is named Proka Migdal.”

“I don't recognize either name. What are you trying to find out about them?” She glanced over his shoulder where Garak still stood, smiling pleasantly.

Bashir turned to Garak and silently prompted him. _Well?_

Garak walked over to the doctor's side, still smiling.

“The circumstances surrounding the young man's adoption. It took place about eight years ago,” he answered with a vague hand gesture. The Bajoran woman bit back a scoff.

“The Cardassians were still here. You'll never find anything from back then.”

Garak shook his head and took on a more thoughtful expression.

“The Cardassians are quite meticulous about keeping records, Madame. They've taught many worlds including this one how to keep records. I find it difficult to believe that none exist from that time period. Weren't computer entries made on a regular basis?” The woman glared at Garak.

“I couldn't tell you. I wasn't a volunteer then. I was in the Underground,” she answered coldly.

“Really?” Garak started, a predatory grin growing across his face. Bashir silenced him with a warning look.

“Do you mind if we check your computer?” he asked, trying to defuse the tension. The woman shook her head.

“Our computers don't work. And I can't get a technician to come out. We're not exactly a top priority.”

Garak smiled, now politely again, and leisurely raised his hand.

“Perhaps I can be of service.”

Bashir turned back to him.

“You know how to fix computers?” the doctor asked. His tone conveying “Why am I not surprised?” Garak shrugged, strolling over to the computers in question.

“It's...a hobby of mine.”

Bashir chuckled quietly to himself, wondering _What have I gotten myself into?_

–

It took Garak almost no time at all to get the console up and running. He quickly started searching through the computer, still managing to joke with Bashir about his computer skills when he suddenly cut himself off mid-sentence.

“Damn. It's not there.”

“What's not there?” the doctor asked, looking over Garak's shoulder at the screen.

“Rugal's name. The father's name. Anything.” Garak turned away, visibly disappointed. Bashir, on the hand, began to smile.

“You found eight year old files that quickly? Garak, you're a marvel!” he exclaimed, grinning. He squeezed the Cardassian's arm and pulled him back. Garak shook his head dismissively and shrugged out of the doctor's grip.

“It's simply a matter of knowing what you're looking for, Doctor...” He sighed. “It could be misfiled, or under the wrong name...” Bashir frowned thoughtfully.

“So what do we do now?”

Garak fiddled with the console, explaining that he was downloading the files from the entire province onto a data clip. Once that was completed, he squatted down to remove the clip. Bashir gave him a hand to help him stand up.

“Now,” Garak began, starting to walk towards the orphanage's exit. The rest of the sentence died in his throat as he spotted several orphans, two of them Cardassian, all watching them.

“Excuse me, sir,” the Cardassian girl asked tentatively, “have you come to take us back to Cardassia?” Garak stifled the feeling of sorrow growing within him.

“I'm afraid not, child,” he answered. He grabbed Bashir's elbow and pulled him along, walking quickly to escape the orphans' sad stares.

“Your computer system is now fully operational, Madam,” Garak called back as he dragged the doctor out of the orphanage.

–

Garak set the runabout's computer to sift through the data looking for someone who matched Rugal's description. Bashir sat in the other chair silently nursing a mug of Tarkalean tea. Garak fidgeted uncharacteristically. The orphans had startled him. He'd somehow gotten it into his head that all the Cardassian orphans would be like Rugal: scared of or angry at him for being Cardassian. Instead they'd asked if he was going to take them to Cardassia. And Doctor Bashir, Federation bleeding heart that he was, was probably broken up over them.

“I'm sorry if you're upset about the orphans,” Garak said, breaking the silence between them. Bashir sighed and took another sip of tea.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't,” the doctor replied, turning to face him better, “but I'm not fresh out of the Academy. I had an idea of what we were walking into. I'm more worried about you.” He looked at Garak with concerned, but warm eyes. Garak looked away and pretended to adjust something on the computer.

“Children without parents to acknowledge them have no status in Cardassian society,” he answered, trying to keep his voice level. “They might be better off staying where they are.” Bashir was still looking at him. Then he finally, _mercifully_ , looked away and sighed.

“So what is Gul Dukat hoping to achieve with Rugal and Kotan Pa'Dar?” the doctor asked, deliberately changing the subject to one with less emotional charge.

“Kotan Pa'dar is one of Cardassia's most notable civilian leaders,” Garak stated, eagerly taking the conversation away from the status of Cardassians with no parents.

Bashir thought for a moment, then replied, “Which makes him Gul Dukat's political enemy... “ His sentence drifted off as he puzzled over the situation, then his eyes widened in realization.

“Family is everything for Cardassians!” Bashir exclaimed. “In _Karmass's Disgrace_ , he loses everything because his son was taken in by a political rival. Because Karmass failed his family, he failed Cardassia. _That's_ what Dukat is planning with Pa'Dar!”

Garak smiled at Bashir and nodded. Bashir grinned back. After a brief moment of triumph Bashir's face drew closed in thought.

“Now how do we prove that Dukat arranged this?” he mused. Garak's gaze fell to the computer screen, where files were being analyzed. As a name appeared over and over, an idea formed in Garak's head.

“We find the person who wrote the file in the first place,” he said softly. Bashir looked at him bewildered.

“The name Jomat Luson keeps coming up on the files from the time period Rugal would have been dropped off. We find her, we find our proof,” Garak explained. “Now, all we have to hope for is that she's still alive.”

–

Bashir strode into the hearing with Garak just a few steps behind him. Garak returned Dukat's nod and then stepped back to watch Bashir work.

“Commander, may I ask a few questions?” Bashir asked with a sense of ease. Sisko raised an eyebrow, but nodded and stepped aside.

Bashir laid the ground work by having Pa'Dar explain how this situation could destroy his political career.

Garak allowed himself a small smile as he watched Bashir. When Bashir worked as a doctor he was warm and comforting. None of that was present here. The doctor had shifted into a neutral professional.

Then Bashir's focus turned to Dukat, “Isn't Gul Dukat a key witness in that inquiry?” Dukat started to protest, but Bashir overrode him.

“Just trying to get the political context straight,” Bashir placated, stepping backwards, his hands up. Though the submissive gesture was weakened by the determination in his eyes.

“This is irrelevant and an insult,” Dukat protested. “You've lost control here, Commander.”

Sisko shrugged.

“Yes, it seems that I have. Again.”

“I suggest we get back to the issue of the children,” Dukat growled. Bashir's expression turned icy and he shifted into an aloof, superior posture.

“Alright, let's talk about children,” he said, a hard edge to his voice as he rose to Dukat's challenge.

Garak felt a shiver of excitement run through him. This was a side of the doctor that he'd never seen before. He knew that the doctor would do everything in his power to save a patient, but this wasn't unraveling a medical mystery, this was challenging one of Cardassia's prominent military leaders.

There was a ferocity in Bashir's eyes that he'd never had the opportunity to witness.

Bashir led Gul Dukat through a series of questions that steadily revealed the plot of what had happened to Rugal all those years ago. There was an incredible grace to Bashir's questioning, and Garak was filled with a sense of awe as he watched the doctor spring the trap.

“Is there a question?” Dukat asked impatiently. Bashir fixed Dukat with an icy glare.

“The question is whether or not the son of Kotan Pa'Dar was _deliberately_ left at the relocation center, with full knowledge that he was not an orphan, by an officer attached to the space station Terok Nor,” Bashir finished with a cold, but triumphant smile.

Dukat leapt to his feet, clearly planning to leave, but he paused to glare daggers at Garak, who merely smirked in return. Garak broke eye contact to look at Bashir, whose expression instantly warmed, before the doctor prepared to make the final blow.

“Gul Dukat, who was the commander of Terok Nor eight years ago?” he asked, smirking. Dukat fled. Bashir grinned openly at Garak, then turned back to Sisko.

“For the record, the commander of Terok Nor eight years ago was Gul Dukat.”

Garak felt his heart soar.


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak makes a move. This chapter also briefly touches on The Circle from season 2 episodes 1-3 and 2x06 - Melora.

 Bashir chuckled as they walked away from the hearing about Rugal, and Garak grinned openly at him.

 You were magnificent, Doctor,” Garak said honestly, gently placing a hand on the other man's back to guide him through the Promenade.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” Bashir replied.

They stopped just outside of the infirmary. Bashir put his hand on Garak's upper arm and squeezed gently.

“Well, I should-”

“Doctor,” Garak interrupted suddenly, causing Bashir to drop his hand. “We should celebrate our victory tonight over dinner.”

“At Quark's or-?” Bashir dropped the sentence when Garak took a step closer and lay a hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his collarbone.

“I was hoping we could go somewhere more...intimate, Doctor,” Garak purred. Bashir's eyes widened, his lips forming an 'o' as the realization hit him.

“Your replicator or mine?” he asked, a flirtatious smile spreading across his face. Garak smiled back at him.

“Mine, I think. The station is too cold for Cardassians, and I've already adjusted the temperature in my quarters,” Garak explained matter-of-factly. _Also because I want to be prepared in case this was all just an elaborate ruse._ Garak flicked his eyes up and gave the doctor a sultry look. Bashir felt giddy.

“W-when-” Bashir stopped to clear his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing temptingly. “That is, when would you like me?” Garak resisted the urge to slide his hand up and caress the doctor's shoulder.

“1830, Doctor,” he said as he pulled himself away, already missing the heat of the body he'd just been so close to. “Wear something light.”

Bashir gave a smile that was meant to be wry, but instead came across as fond.

“I'll see you then.”

–

Bashir was only ten minutes early, and Garak let him in with open appreciation for the low neckline on the blue tunic Bashir had paired with plain but well-fitted black pants. But then Garak had gestured for Bashir to sit at the table and wait while he finished laying out the food.

Throughout dinner Bashir repressed the urge to just reach across the table and pull Garak close to him. He managed to keep up with the uncharacteristically minimal conversation that Garak made, but his whole body was electric with anticipation. He'd been flirting with Garak for over a year, but he had accepted that it wouldn't become more than that, that Garak wasn't interested in him in the same way. So to be here, with him, on the precipice of becoming more, it was unreal.

After what felt like an eternity Garak finished eating and set aside his utensils.

“Shall we retire to the bedroom?” Garak invited with a calmness that Bashir's buzzing mind couldn't understand. How could Garak fake serenity when Bashir was on fire?

Bashir nodded, not trusting his voice, and followed Garak into the next room. As soon as the door slid shut, Garak's mask fell away and he pressed the doctor against the wall, desperately claiming his mouth.

“Doctor,” he said breathlessly when he pulled his head back.

“Julian,” Bashir corrected, panting slightly already. “Please, call me Julian.”

“Julian,” Garak purred, his lips almost brushing Bashir's as he leaned back in. “For tonight, call me Elim.” He closed the distance again, but this time the kiss was softer, though no less passionate. Julian's arms wrapped around Garak and somehow pulled him closer.

Bashir broke the kiss this time, murmuring, “Elim. My dear, sweet Elim.” He brought one of his hands to Garak's face and caressed his cheek.

After a moment they resumed the kiss, this time with a quickly growing hunger that soon had them pulling at each other's clothing, Garak helped Bashir undo the closure of his tunic, but Bashir flinched back letting out a soft hiss when Garak reached under its hem.

“Your hands are cold!” he complained, though he still pulled the shirt off.

“I”m a Cardassian, Julian,” Garak replied, his voice low, “you'll just have to warm me up.” Bashir opened his mouth to reply, but dropped it as Garak slowly ran his hands up Bashir's arms and caressed his shoulders before ever so slowly lowering them to run across Bashir's chest, drawing an appreciative sigh from the doctor.

“Better?” Garak asked teasingly. Bashir tried to give him an annoyed look, but it was undercut by his fond smile.

“Much,” he answered, sliding his hands to the closures for Garak's jacket. He fussed with them briefly, then let out a frustrated huff. Garak smiled and pulled the doctor's hands away, quickly undoing the closures and removing the jacket, revealing the thermal shirt underneath. Bashir helped pull the layer over Garak's head, running his warm hands over the Cardassian's chest as he did so. An appreciative shudder ran through Garak's body and his neck ridges flushed even darker with desire.

They finished undressing and made their way to the bed. They fell in lustful passion together, a culmination of all their individual feelings and desires over all this time as they were finally joined together.

After they were finished, Bashir pulled Garak close to him, and to his warmth. Garak reassured himself that the heat he felt in his chest was because of that, not because he had an emotional connection to the doctor.

“Are you falling asleep, Doctor?” Garak asked. The man's breathing had steadied out and slowed.

“Human males get sleepy after intercourse,” Bashir explained, at once both professional and sluggish. “And I told you to call me Julian.”

“How very trusting of your species,” Garak replied, neatly side-stepping Bashir's second statement.

“Do you want me to leave?” Bashir asked seriously.

“No, stay,” Garak answered softly. “You're warm.”

“Mmm,” Bashir hummed, nuzzling the back of Garak's neck. Garak let out a soft sigh and allowed himself to relax deeper into Bashir's embrace.

“Elim,” Bashir murmured, the warm air ghosting over Garak's ear. “My dear Elim.”

–

Bashir left the next morning after a quick breakfast, running back to his room to change into uniform for a staff meeting. He made it to the wardroom with time to spare, a huge grin splitting his face. Jadzia noticed immediately.

“So?” she prompted as Bashir sat next to her. “Did you have a good night?” She raised a suggestive eyebrow. Bashir shot a bemused look at her.

“Jadzia, I had a wonderful night, but you know I'm not one to kiss and tell,” he returned, putting on his most innocent expression. Jadzia snickered. At the head of the table, Sisko let out a short bark of laughter.

“At least tell me if it's who I think it is,” Jadzia begged.

Bashir paused to look around the room. Chief O'Brien and Major Kira were both seated at the table. Bashir knew the Chief passingly from his time serving on the Enterprise, he'd made his opinion on Cardassians pretty clear since arriving at the station, but he likely wouldn't do much more than call Bashir a naive idiot and grumble a bit before accepting that it wasn't his decision to make. the Major on the other hand was likely to bite his head off, and he was already on thin ice with her. It was probably best to be subtle.

“Yes, it's exactly who you think it is,” he answered, smiling to himself. Jadzia grinned at him, but didn't get a chance to reply as Sisko chose that moment to start the meeting.

–

Garak and Bashir both agreed it was wise to keep their relationship private, though for different reasons. Bashir was concerned about tensions between the Bajorans and Starfleet, especially since they'd so recently faced the Circle's attempt to take over the station. Garak, on the other hand was concerned about Tain or his enemies trying to get at him through the doctor.

They did keep up their regular lunches, and if their hands brushed more than before, well that was likely subtle enough to pass under the radar.

It was during one of these lunches that Bashir brought up Melora.

“She's the first Elaysian to join Starfleet. Her quarters had to be specially modified so she could turn off the gravity. I'm looking into neuromuscular adaptation theory. I think it's possible to adjust her body to function in our gravity!”

“Is that the young woman you took to dinner the other night? Should I be concerned?” Garak asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Bashir's eyes widened in terror.

“I-I...She's very closed off and has a hard time accepting that people accept her. I just thought I'd spend some time with her, show her that I enjoy her company as a person, not just a science project.” Bashir paused mid-ramble when he noticed Garak's smirk. “You're not actually concerned, are you?”

“Very astute of you, Doctor,” Garak replied with a smile. Bashir sighed and rested his face in his hands. After a moment of silent self-pity, Bashir raised his head and looked Garak in the eyes.

“If you're done teasing me, could we talk about something else?”

“Certainly,” Garak answered. “Have you had a chance to read that enigma tale I loaned you?”

Just like that they were back into their usual pattern of discussing literature. And if they both happened to make points that the other was bound to argue with, well that wasn't that far off from how their discussions had gone before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is far from resolved. Strap yourselves in because we are going on a ride.


	7. Armageddon Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 2x13 - Armageddon Game

The mission appeared to be like any other, although it did mark the first time Bashir and Garak were to be apart for a significant amount of time since their relationship had begun.

Bashir had invited Garak over for dinner the night before. Later, as Bashir had drifted off to sleep next to him, Garak tried to convince himself that the anxiety he felt was just natural Cardassian post-coital alertness, perhaps mixed with concern about his contact being off the station for an undetermined amount of time. Eventually he allowed Bashir's warmth and the knowledge that there was a phaser hidden within reach to lull him to sleep.

Breakfast hadn't been anything unique, they'd both had red leaf tea and scones with moba jam.

They'd done their goodbye in private, with a tender kiss, the rough feel of the doctor's beard under Garak's fingers. They'd slowly pulled apart. Bashir had given Garak a loving smile and promised that he'd be back as soon as possible.

A week later, the station received word of Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien's deaths.

–

Sisko brought the remaining senior officers into his office to watch recording of the accident that had been provided by the T'Lani and Kellerun. After dealing with Kira's angry outburst, he started assigning tasks to deal with the situation.

“Would you like me to go with you to see Mrs. O'Brien?” Jadzia asked, then after a pause she added, “And Garak?” Kira looked startled, but Odo's expression didn't change. He either had already known about that relationship or was pretending to.

“No, I'll take care of it. Find out how I can contact Julian's family. Major, inform the crew we'll be holding a memorial service tomorrow evening at eighteen hundred hours.”

–

In an abandoned building on the surface of T'Lani Three, O'Brien was attempting to repair a comm system while Bashir paced impatiently for lack of anything better to do.

“I hate not being able to do anything constructive,” he complained.

“Just keep your eyes open for any Kellerun soldiers,” O'Brien answered, focused on the console.

“Don't worry, I will.”

“It's such a mess in here,” O'Brien grumbled.

“You'll make it work, Miles. It's the kind of challenge you live for,” Bashir replied confidently. He sighed. “You know, I was looking forward to returning to the station.”

O'Brien snorted. “What, missing our racquetball games already?”

“No, it's...” Bashir started. “I've been seeing someone, for about two months now, and...well this is the longest we've been apart since...” His sentence faded into silence.

“Oh?” O'Brien asked absently. “Who is it? Some beautiful woman you charmed with your bedside manner? Your reputation on the Enterprise was almost as bad as Riker's.” Bashir rolled his eyes.

“I was not nearly as bad as Riker,” Bashir protested.

“Well, go on,” O'Brien prompted. “Who is it?”

“It's...Garak.”

_“What?”_ O'Brien turned away from his work to fix Bashir with an incredulous look. Bashir simply shrugged.

_“Garak?”_ O'Brien repeated.

“Yes.”

“The _Cardassian?”_

“Yes.”

“The _spy?”_ Bashir sighed.

“ _Yes_ , Garak the Cardassian spy. It's probably the worst decision I've made since I put off my Starfleet career to be with Palis, but I think I might be in _love_ with him.” Bashir groaned and ran a hand over his face. O'Brien shrugged.

“Well, it's your funeral,” he said as he grabbed a blanket from their salvaged supplies. Suddenly Bashir became alert.

“Are you cold?” Bashir had transformed back into a medical professional. With only a bit of griping from O'Brien, he scanned the engineer and had him roll up his sleeve.

“You were behind the genetic bath when it shattered, weren't you?” Bashir asked solemnly.

“You have something to tell me, Doctor?”

“You've been infected by the harvesters.”

–

Sisko took a deep breath to prepare himself outside of Garak's shop. Keiko O'Brien had taken the news as well as could be expected, but then she was Starfleet herself. She knew the risks as well as any of them. Garak on the other hand...

The Cardassian was an unknown quantity. Bashir had suspected, and Sisko agreed, that Garak was likely a spy or informant for Cardassia, although the government was made up of so many competing factions it was hard to predict exactly which side he would take. If Garak was a spy, then he would know better than most the dangers of a mission, but who knew how he'd take Bashir's death. There was also the slim possibility that Garak was nothing more than he appeared, in which case he'd probably take the doctor's death hard.

Further confusing the situation, Sisko didn't know the exact nature of Bashir and Garak's relationship. From what Sisko had observed and Bashir had confessed, the doctor had leaned towards looser relationships since his divorce. He'd given Sisko a drunken ramble about how Starfleet officers shouldn't get married: the danger and being reassigned across the quadrant making it unfair to the family being either left behind or dragged along.

Sisko sighed. Whatever the case, it was his duty to tell Garak the grave news.

–

Commander Sisko walking into Garak's shop was a surprise, though judging by the serious look on the commander's face this was not going to be a pleasant visit.

Sisko glanced around the empty shop and asked, “Could I speak to you in private?”

Garak gave a pleasant smile and ordered the computer to lock the door, suppressing the fear that was rising within him.

“How can I help you, Commander?” Garak asked, falling into his customer service persona.

“Garak.” Sisko paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. Garak found himself unconsciously holding his breath.

“There was an accident,” Sisko started again. Garak's heart plummeted.

“Doctor Bashir,” he whispered.

“He and Chief O'Brien were killed.” When Garak remained silent, Sisko continued, “I don't know the full extent of your relationship with Julian, but I thought it would be best for you to hear it from me.”  
  
“It wouldn't have lasted. It wasn't _that_ serious,” Garak murmured, his eyes falling to the project he'd just been working on, a jacket the doctor had ordered. It was made of a lightweight cream colored fabric, meant to be worn with a set of matching high waisted pants that he'd finished the day after Bashir had left. He'd been so looking forward to seeing the doctor in that outfit.

Sisko observed him for a moment and then said, “You cared for Julian very deeply.”

Garak's first instinct was to deny it, to insist that the pain growing in his chest was because he'd lost the Starfleet officer most willing to talk to him. But if the doctor had truly meant nothing to him then he wouldn't be feeling like he'd lost his whole world.

“I...” His voice fell. His heart was squeezing too tightly for him to speak, so he nodded instead.

Sisko gave him a sympathetic look.

“If there's anything you need, anything I can do, just let me know,” Sisko offered.

“Thank you, sir,” Garak managed to choke out. “I'd like to be alone.” He unlocked the door and Sisko left with a nod.

As soon as he left, Garak locked the door again and retreated into the back room. He immediately retrieved the hidden Cardassian disruptor pistol then he collapsed to the ground, armed in case someone tried to take advantage of his emotional turmoil, and allowed himself a moment of sentimental weakness.

–

Immediately after they returned to the station, Bashir rushed O'Brien to the infirmary for treatment, with Sisko promising to deliver the happy news of their survival to their respective partners. Bashir left the infirmary as soon as he was satisfied that the Chief's position had stabilized.

It had been a day since the word of their apparent deaths had reached the station.

Bashir headed directly to Garak's quarters, where the computer had said the Cardassian would be. He pressed the chime and only had to wait a moment before the door slid open. Garak stood in the doorway looking a bit worn.

“Elim,” Bashir breathed out, pulling the other man into a warm embrace. “I thought I would never see you again.” After a moment, Garak shrugged out of Bashir's grasp.

“Would you like to come in, Doctor?” Garak invited, leading Bashir out of the hallway. Once inside they moved apart. Bashir shyly looked at Garak, his hand running nervously through his hair.

“I realized something...while I was away,” Bashir said softly, his eyes warm. Garak looked at him, his face an unreadable mask.

“I realized something as well.”

Bashir gave Garak a shaky smile and said, “I love-”

“I'm breaking up with you,” Garak cut him off.

Bashir's face crumpled as the words registered. His mouth gaped as he tried to voice any small part of his emotions. Garak's face was still and cool.

“Wha...?” he eventually managed to choke out.

“I'm breaking up with you,” Garak repeated, his expression betraying no emotion. Bashir focused his sorrowful eyes on Garak, searching desperately for any hint that this was a lie.

“Why?” Bashir whispered.

“You're not interested in me because of who I am. I'm the sole Cardassian on this station, and you want to learn about Cardassians. You admitted as much when we first met and you practically begged me to get an exam,” Garak explained coolly.

“That's not-” Bashir protested, but Garak overrode him.

“This also explains your obsessive idea that I must be a spy. It makes me even more mysterious, more unique, and more attractive to you.”

“No, I-”

“Really, Doctor, did you think I wouldn't notice the pattern? Your fascination with Melora, the only Elaysian you're likely to meet; the stories of your exploits from the Enterprise; your flirting with Curzon Dax at Commander Sisko's wedding. Why, you likely would have pursued Jadzia Dax with the same determination you showed with me if Curzon hadn't previously turned you down.” Garak's words struck Bashir like a knife, precisely aimed to cause the most pain.

“Elim,” Bashir begged, unsure what else to say and completely overwhelmed.

“Leave, _Doctor_ ,” Garak said, the words filled with venom.

Stunned, Bashir let himself be pushed out into the hallway.

Alone, Garak allowed himself a small sigh. It was done.

_Tain would have enjoyed watching that,_ Garak thought, purposefully pushing his mind away from what Bashir had been saying before Garak had cut him off.

_I love you._

Well, it didn't matter now. Garak had driven the doctor out of his life, as much as he could on a space station anyway.

_I'm fine,_ Garak lied to himself. _I'm fine._

–

Kira headed into Quark's looking for Jadzia. She spotted the other woman at the far end of the bar with a miserable-looking Doctor Bashir. Jadzia smiled and waved her over.

Kira looked at Bashir. His hair was messier than usual, his eyes were reddened and puffy, and he was still wearing the filthy uniform he'd had on when he was rescued. She glanced at Jadzia, her eyebrows raised, silently asking a question.

Jadzia mouthed one word, “Garak.” Kira sighed, the noise drawing Bashir's attention away from his glass.

Bashir slowly raised his eyes up, as if even that movement was painful for him.

“Major,” he croaked sadly, nodding at her.

She nodded back awkwardly. Kira and the doctor hadn't really sorted out where they stood with one another, though she had come to realize that most of the irritating things he said were a case of his mouth working faster than his brain rather than out of actual malice. She glanced at Jadzia for help, but the Trill was busy ordering a drink.

When she looked back the doctor's focus was already back on his glass.

“He's taking the break up hard,” Jadzia murmured, leaning closer to Kira to minimize the chance of Bashir hearing. “When Curzon met him he'd just gotten divorced, but Julian wasn't like this at all.”

“It was _different_ with Palis,” Bashir interrupted, clearly having overheard despite Jadzia's efforts. He let out a shuddering sigh, then continued. “With Palis, we both _knew_ it was over, it was just a matter of _ending_ the damn thing.”

Bashir took a sip of his drink, bracing himself.

“With E...with _Garak_ ,” his voice cracked on the name, “I didn't... I thought...” What little remained of the doctor's composure fell and he could no longer hold back any tears. Jadzia placed a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder as he sobbed.

Kira stood stunned. Doctor Bashir wasn't her favorite person on the station, but he didn't deserve to be toyed with like this.

“I ought to-” she muttered darkly, her mind already coming up with threats for the Cardassian. Jadzia flashed her a look and Kira sat down on an empty chair. She got the attention of a Ferengi waiter and ordered herself a glass of springwine. It was going to be a long night.

–

Bashir awoke the next morning with a monstrous hangover and cursed the constant hum of the station for being too loud. He rolled onto his side and found a glass of water and a PADD on his bedside table. After forcing his body up and chugging the water, Bashir stumbled to the replicator and requested his preferred hangover cure. He pressed the hypospray to his own neck and tried not to wince at the soft hiss it made. He ordered a cup of tea, English Breakfast with extra sugar, to help wake him up.

Once his pain began to fade and the world settled, Bashir grabbed the PADD he'd ignored earlier and replicated a proper breakfast. On the PADD was a message from Kira giving a brief summary of the previous evening, nothing much had happened besides him breaking down in the middle of Quark's, as well as the offer of a friendly ear if he needed someone to complain to.

Bashir let out a sigh. It was going to take a lot of work to make him look at all presentable. First he took a shower, a proper water one, and got dressed, mindlessly pulling on his uniform despite having the day off. Looking through his off-duty wear would have been too painful.

The basics taken care of, Bashir turned to specifics. He'd given his face a quick wash in the shower, but now he washed it again with cold water to ease his swollen eyelids. It helped, but not much. Bashir settled himself in with a cold pack and some music and tried very hard not to think.

–

In the weeks that followed, Garak studiously avoided the doctor, not going anywhere besides his shop and his quarters. After all, he could get the best gossip from Quark while repairing the Ferengi's suits, so there was no need to venture into the bar itself.

Bashir, for his part, worked hard to occupy his time. He threw himself into his research projects with a new passion, he took on all challengers in racquetball, he accepted every dinner invitation offered by Sisko, he even started having the occasional meal with Jadzia and Kira. Anything to keep himself busy.

Their lives slowly returned to a state of normality, at least as normal as life aboard a space station ever was. Of course, it didn't take long for things to become interesting again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, friends. We are going on a feels trip.


	8. Profit and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 2x18 - Profit and Loss

Garak had started eating the odd meal at Quark's again, always very careful to avoid the doctor's normal hours. For once he didn't feel like admiring his handiwork. He avoided the Replimat as much as possible; it held too many memories and Bashir liked to frequent it when he coaxed one of his friends into eating with him. Today it had been Major Kira of all people.

Garak's meal at the bar had been normal enough, until Quark had led in a Cardassian woman, followed by two more Cardassians. He recognized all of them: Professor Natima Lang and her two students, Hogue and Rekelen. The military considered them terrorists. He nodded politely as he passed the professor on his way out of the bar.

–

“Ah, Mister Quark, this is a surprise,” Garak announced as if he hadn't been expecting the Ferengi to seek him out. “I'm afraid I haven't finished with your jacket.”

“You were in my bar today,” Quark declared, his eyes examining the dresses on display.

“Is that so unusual?” Garak asked, mindlessly repairing a uniform.

“You used to eat lunch at the Replimat.” Garak's hands stilled and he resisted the urge to glare at Quark, instead giving him a deliberately neutral look.

“It was crowded,” he said, the tone coming out a little harsher than he wanted it to. Quark gave him a knowing smile.

“Who was Doctor Bashir eating with today?”

This time Garak did glare at Quark.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, biting back the desire to hiss at the Ferengi.

“What do you get for that?” Quark asked quickly, realizing he was pushing too far. Garak glanced at the dress Quark was pointing at.

_An opening,_ he thought to himself.

“It's the current style on Cardassia. I made it in a moment of homesickness. It's been so long since I've had a Cardassian customer.” He paused, letting the Ferengi take in that thought. “I suppose...seventeen strips of latinum.”

“I tell you what, I'll give you twenty.” Garak raised an eye ridge. _Quark is feeling generous. He must care deeply for her._

“Twenty? Professor Lang must be a very dear friend indeed.” Quark gave him a sharp look.

“You're very perceptive,” he said warily. Garak rolled his eyes.

“It would have been hard to miss the way you were looking at her.”

He could see Quark suppressing another comment about Doctor Bashir.

“Personally, I find this style a bit too radical, but your friend seems the sort who appreciates that kind of thing,” Garak said, redirecting the conversation away from the doctor. Quark gave him a long look before answering.

“Different tastes for different people. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Garak smiled. It had been too long since he'd had a conversation full of double-meanings.

“Oh, you'd be surprised how detrimental a poor choice of fashion can be. Take this dress. It may be all the rage now but in a very short time it can become tiresome, an affront to the eyes. Certain people might even think it's objectionable. And then,” he grinned as he ripped the dress in half, relishing the destruction, “nothing but rags.”

Quark looked at him warily, then replied, “I see. Were you going somewhere specific with that or are you just taking out your loneliness on me?” Garak let out a frustrated sigh.

“Your _lady friend,_ ” he stressed, “has chosen to associate herself with some rather _flamboyant_ companions. It would be a tragedy if she got in the way when her friends go out of fashion.” Quark glared at him then, drawing himself up to his full height, with determination flaring in his eyes.

“If anyone tries to harm her, they're going to have to deal with me.”

“What are you going to do, short change them at the dabo table?” Garak taunted, smirking.

“I think I'll buy this dress after all. See that it's mended.”

–

Garak rushed to Ops as soon as Central Command informed him that a warship was on its way to aid in the negotiations. _The military has no sense of tact,_ he fumed. The situation was delicate enough as it was, and he did not need a hot-headed, glory-hungry Gul making his job more difficult.

Sisko had hidden his dislike for Garak well enough, but Garak knew the man. He was loyal, caring, and Garak had hurt his friend very deeply.

They'd danced back and forth, posturing. The Central Command would like Hogue and Rekelen turned over immediately. The Commander wouldn't detain them. Finally, Sisko decided to end the negotiations.

“Do you really expect a Bajoran station under Federation command to turn over Cardassian political refugees on your say-so?” Garak bowed his head deferentially.

“The ultimate decision is of course yours. I am simply relaying a message.”

“Then relay this. Tell the Central Command if anyone attempts to take Hogue and Rekelen by force, I will respond in kind. Am I clear, Mister Garak?” Garak smiled.

“Absolutely, sir. Thank you for your time.” He paused at the door. “Oh, and would you let Doctor Bashir know that his orders are finished. I can deliver them if he's too busy to stop by himself.”

Sisko let his personal feelings show through in a forceful glare.

“I'll let him know,” Sisko said with a harsh undertone. Garak smiled and quickly fled to the turbolift.

_That was foolish,_ he chided himself. That last remark had done nothing but worsen the Commander's already low opinion of him. He let out a soft sigh. The wire helped stabilize his emotions, but sometimes it made him too comfortable, too confident. He'd have to remember that.

–

Garak had been happy to let the situation play itself out without further work on his part. Cardassia offered to hand over half a dozen Bajoran prisoners in exchange for the three Cardassians. The Bajoran Provisional Government would take that deal in a heartbeat. Of course, he hadn't been surprised when the console in his back room alerted him to an incoming message.

“How the mighty have fallen,” the other Cardassian greeted when Garak answered.

“Toran?” Garak inquired. Out of everyone Central Command could have sent in that warship, they had to choose someone who hated the Obsidian Order, and by extension Garak.

“It's Gul Toran now,” Toran corrected in a smug tone.

“They've made you a Gul,” Garak commented dryly. “I didn't realize Cardassia had fallen apart in my absence.” Toran sneered at him.

“I wouldn't be so arrogant if I were you, Garak. Enabran Tain has retired. The Obsidian Order's days are numbered.”

“If you believe that you're even more foolish than I thought,” Garak replied with a smile.

“Oh really? Well, the Central Command doesn't want those three to leave the station alive.” Toran smirked as Garak's expression shifted slightly.

“But I suggested a prisoner exchange and the Central Command agreed,” Garak protested.

“I convinced them otherwise.”

“They listen to _you?_ ”

“Like I said, the Obsidian Order is waning.” Garak let out a frustrated sigh.

“Kill Professor Lang and her students and all you'll do is create martyrs,” he explained.

“You overestimate their importance,” Toran fired back.

“And how do you propose to arrange this unfortunate incident?” Garak asked wearily.

“I'm sure you'll think of something. You always have,” Toran replied, smirking. “Unless of course, you intend to spend the rest of your life as a _tailor_.”

“I'll do what I can, _without_ jeopardizing my position here,” Garak answered, with a pointed look.

Toran scoffed and closed the channel, leaving Garak alone with his thoughts.

–

Garak hid in the airlock and waited. When it opened, Garak emerged to three Cardassians and one Ferengi all looking shocked.

“But what's the rush?” he purred, disruptor pistol steadily aimed at Professor Lang.

“You've betrayed us,” Rekelen accused Quark, who protested his innocence, moving between Garak and Natima Lang.

“Don't. I'd hate to ruin such a nice suit,” Garak said warningly.

“Why are you doing this?” Quark asked. Garak shook his head and smiled.

“Don't be naive Quark.”

Hogue and Rekelen offered to surrender if Lang was allowed to walk free. Garak informed them that her fate had been sealed as well.

“Garak, if you harm these people, I'll see to it that Commander Sisko prosecutes you to the fullest extent of the law,” Quark threatened weakly. “What will Doctor Bashir think?” Garak gave him a pitying look.

“Really. Quark, things would've gone much easier if you'd taken my advice and not gotten involved with these people,” Garak chided.

“I was already involved,” Quark replied softly. Garak shrugged.

“A pity, really. Personally, I rather like you, Quark.” It was strangely true. The Ferengi could be a nuisance, but he shared Garak's keen interest in gathering information. In many ways their professions were surprisingly similar.

“You mean you're going to shoot me too?” Quark asked, eyes widening.

“I live by a simple motto. Never let sentiment get in the way of your work.” It was why he'd driven off Doctor Bashir, so mere professional respect wouldn't be enough to save Quark.

Quark clearly considered making a comment about the doctor, but chose instead to simply say, “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Well then, although I admit it's against my better judgment, I'm afraid I must carry out the verdict of the Central Command,” Garak babbled, a nervous energy he'd hoped the wire would have steadied out spurring him to speak.

“But you admit that they're wrong,” Quark interjected. “Why don't you stand up for what you believe in?”

“More to the point, what do you believe in, Garak?” Toran asked, stepping into the conflict.

“What are you doing here, Toran?” Garak's mind started whirling through contingency plans.

“Making sure that you carry out your assignment. I suspected that two years living among the Bajorans, among Starfleet, would make you soft. I see I was right,” Toran proclaimed as he marched over.

“You've never been right about anything,” Garak retorted.

“I will take over from here.” Toran reached to take the disruptor and Garak fired, vaporizing him. Quark and the three Cardassians looked at him in shock.

“Some people should never be promoted,” Garak said with a shrug. The others remained frozen.

“Well, don't just stand there. Your ship is waiting,” He prompted.

“I'm going to see to it that every Ferengi on the station shops at your store,” Quark proclaimed in gratitude.

“Ah. That alone makes it all worthwhile,” Garak said lightly. He stayed and watched Quark and Natima's farewell, ignoring the ache in his chest that he'd thought the wire would have taken care of. Once Natima stepped into the airlock, Garak made his presence known again.

“I suggest we return to the Promenade without delay.”

“You have to tell me, why'd you do it? Shoot Toran?” Quark asked, immediately digging for information.

“Why did you let Professor Lang go?” Garak countered.

“Why did you drive off Doctor Bashir? You clearly still care about him.” Quark was more observant than Garak had given him credit for. Garak smiled mysteriously.

“I love Cardassia, Quark. That is why I do everything.”

“I don't understand.”

“That's the thing about love. No one really understands it, do they?” Garak turned his thoughts towards Cardassia Prime, the beauty of its architecture, the strength of its people, deliberately forcing his thoughts away from caring eyes and gentle hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased with the response to the last chapter! Thank you for the lovely comments! I'm sorry I didn't respond to them, but I wasn't sure what to say other than "THANK YOU SO MUCH!" (Yes, the caps are necessary.)  
> Also, I'd like to thank Ameera, my beta reader, who has helped me so much with dialogue and plotting when I get stuck. Here's that co-author credit I keep promising you.


	9. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 3x01 and 3x02 - The Search

Bashir rushed off the Defiant, turning down Jadzia's offer to accompany him as emotional support. The ship's maiden voyage had been a disaster. His feet automatically guided him through the station as his mind dwelled on the simulation he'd experienced.

_As soon as he stepped onto the Promenade he almost ran directly into the man he'd been avoiding for months._

_“Doctor, pay attention!” Garak exclaimed, neatly side-stepping to avoid a collision._

_“Sorry, sorry,” he frantically apologized, but Garak didn't appear annoyed with him. If anything he looked happy to see Bashir._

_“I take it your trip to the Gamma Quadrant was an exciting one,” Garak said with a fond smile. Bashir found himself smiling back._

_“Jadzia and Miles got most of the excitement, I'm afraid.”_

_“A shame.” Garak paused, then said softly, “I have missed you, Doctor.” Bashir blinked in surprise._

_“You...” he said, letting the sentence fade and die as he realized he didn't know how to continue it._

_“I don't mean that I want to start another relationship with you,” Garak clarified quickly. “I miss your company, the discussions we used to have.”_

_“Debating literature and politics over lunch?” Bashir replied as they walked towards the infirmary, side by side._

_“You know, there's an old saying on Cardassia: Enemies make dangerous friends. It seems especially relevant now.”_

_“I take it you're referring to the peace talks.”_

_“Exactly. I'm afraid these treaty negotiations are a mistake we're going to live to regret.”_

_“Is that your opinion or the opinion of the Cardassian Central Command?” Bashir asked slyly. Garak rolled his eyes._

_“The former, I assure you.”_

_Then T'Rul had left the infirmary and told them that the Romulans were being excluded from the negotiations before she stormed off._

Bashir halted in the middle of the Promenade. It had all moved so quickly after that. The Jem'Hadar attacking Miles, Ben being arrested, Garak helping them escape and then...the sound of a weapon firing, the smell of burnt flesh and clothes, the weight of Garak's body in his arms.

_“Julian, I'm sorry...I'm afraid I won't be able to have lunch with you today.”_

Bashir's feet had mindlessly guided him to the entrance of Garak's shop. He took a moment to collect himself, to remember that it had all been an illusion. Garak would be fine.

He entered the shop.

–

Garak did not hide his surprise when the doctor came into his shop. He let it linger long enough for Bashir to see before schooling his features into a polite smile.

“Doctor, is there something I can help you with?”

Bashir's gaze flickered around the shop as his face flushed slightly.

“I just...” he started. “I needed to make sure you were...alright.” Garak looked at him curiously.

“I'm perfectly fine.”

“Yes, I-I know,” Bashir stammered. He let out a sigh. “A lot happened on our mission and...I'm not sure how much I should be telling you.” Garak walked over to Bashir's side.

“Tell me what you can.”

“I saw you die,” Bashir whispered, his hand hovering between them, waiting for permission to touch. Garak gave a small nod and the hand pressed against his cheek, feeling that it was real.

“I assure you, Doctor, I am very much alive,” he said softly, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment.

“I've missed you, Garak,” Bashir said, echoing the words Garak had said to him in the simulation. Garak opened his mouth to speak, so Bashir quickly clarified.

“I'm not... I miss your company. I miss our lunches together.” He smiled sheepishly, his hand falling back to his side.

Garak weighed his options. He had also missed the doctor, and after their break up most of the Starfleet personnel had closed ranks and avoided talking to him as much as they could. Besides, he had the wire now, he didn't need the joy from a romantic or sexual liaison to get through the petty annoyances of his daily life.

“Would tomorrow work? For lunch?” Garak asked, almost shyly. Bashir gave him a warm look.

“Tomorrow would be perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was so short. The next one will be much longer, I promise!


	10. Second Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 3x05 - Second Skin  
> References TNG Episodes 6x10 and 6x11 - Chain of Command, Part I and II

Bashir and Garak quickly slipped back into a routine of weekly lunches. Bashir's colleagues had all made their opinions known. O'Brien had shrugged and told Bashir to focus on their game. Kira had scoffed and asked if he'd learned _anything_ since coming to the station. Jadzia had warned him to look after himself. Sisko had simply smiled knowingly before reminding him to be careful.

Bashir had picked up the commissions that had sat in Garak's shop during the months since their break up, and he'd resumed wearing some of the off-duty clothes Garak had made. They'd even started trading literature again, though their debates were less deliberately argumentative.

It wasn't long before life on the station threw them another challenge. Bashir had gotten back late that morning, just barely in time for them to have their usual lunch. Garak had asked about his trip to Klaestron IV and everything had been normal.

That evening Bashir had just handed the infirmary over to the overnight shift and had barely stepped onto the Promenade when Garak stopped him.

“Good evening, Doctor. If you're finished here, I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a late snack.” Bashir perked up and offered a small smile.

“Oh? That sounds-” He was interrupted mid-sentence by a fierce yawn. “Actually, Garak, I really need to sleep. I'm not as young as I used to be. Maybe tomorrow.” He moved to leave, but Garak placed an arm in his path.

“I'm afraid this can't wait until tomorrow. I have very important news about Major Kira.” Bashir blinked at him in surprise.

Garak continued, his voice low, “I heard from a friend that she's being held by members of the Obsidian Order. I'm sorry.”

Bashir reacted immediately. With one hand he grabbed Garak's arm and with the other he pressed his combadge.

“Bashir to Sisko.” He got an immediate response.

“Sisko here.”

“Ben, meet me in the security office right away,” Bashir said, already leading Garak there. “It's about Kira.”

They reached the security office shortly. Odo gave them a curious look, but before Bashir could explain, Garak interrupted irritably.

“You may release me, Doctor. I'm not planning on going anywhere at this point.” Bashir dropped his arm immediately.

“Sorry,” he offered sheepishly. Garak huffed and made a show of straightening out his sleeve while Bashir explained the situation to Odo. They were soon joined by Commander Sisko, who wasn't at all surprised by Garak's presence.

“Well, Mister Garak, care to explain what all this is about?” Sisko asked gravely. Garak glared at Bashir.

“Doctor, I came to you in confidence because the Major is your friend. I did not intend for you to drag me across the Promenade for an interrogation,” he growled.

“Mister Garak,” Sisko barked. “Tell us what's going on.” Garak looked between the other three men and realized he had no other option. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“I heard that Major Kira is being held by the Obsidian Order,” he said, leftover annoyance creeping into his tone. “If that is indeed the case, then retrieving her would be impossible.”

“Impossible for us, maybe, but not for you,” Odo chimed in.

“I'm afraid you overestimate my abilities,” Garak replied stiffly.

“I hope not, because I intend to put your abilities to the test. The three of us are going to Cardassia,” Sisko announced, leaving out Bashir.

“The three of us?” Garak asked incredulously. “You can't be serious. Commander, just because I've passed on some information that does _not_ mean that I'm willing to risk my life going against the Obsidian Order!”

Yes, there was division within the Obsidian Order between those who were still loyal to Tain and sought to manipulate events from the shadows and those who wanted the Order to rule outright, weakening the Detapa Council and the Central Command. Considering what he'd managed to gather about what had happened to Major Kira and what he knew about the agent involved, Garak was fairly certain they were on opposing sides of the issue. However, there was a difference between giving Starfleet some answers and getting into direct conflict with his comrades, even if they disagreed on this.

“Hmm.” Sisko thought for a moment, then said, “It's a shame, there are certain ministers in the Bajoran government who are concerned about your presence on this station. In fact, they want you removed. Right now, I see no alternative but to honor their request. Unless, of course, I can show them how you might be valuable to us.”

“Rescuing Kira would go a long way toward improving your standing with the Bajoran government,” Odo added.

Garak glared at them, knowing where this was going. He was trapped, caged in. He could already feel his chest tightening.

“Garak, please,” Bashir asked softly, his warm eyes silently pleading. Garak took a slow breath to calm himself and refocus.

“Commander, this is extortion,” he said, his voice carefully level, his focus deliberately away from the doctor.

“Yes. It is.” Sisko smiled. “We'll be traveling under false transit documents prepared by Starfleet Intelligence. Mister O'Brien has reconfigured the shield harmonics of the Defiant so that, on long-range sensors, it'll appear to be a Kobheerian freighter. We leave in three hours.”

Garak considered his situation. He was being invited onto the brand new Defiant, the first of its class. A Starfleet ship that had been designed to fight against the Borg. Any information he could discover about it would be very valuable, probably valuable enough to justify sabotaging the Order's plan for Legate Ghemor. Besides, Entek and Tain had never agreed on anything before, providing him with further justification.

Now he just needed to protest or demand something so that Commander Sisko would believe he'd been thoroughly outmaneuvered. His gaze drifted back to the doctor, who was looking at him curiously, perhaps with a touch of concern. _Yes, he would do nicely._

“I'll go along on your fool's errand,” Garak announced, turning his attention back to Sisko, “but I want Doctor Bashir to come with us. I want at least one person on that ship who isn't plotting my execution.”

Sisko gave Garak a long look as he considered this. His gaze shifted to Bashir, noting how he'd brightened slightly at the Cardassian's request. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking for Bashir's opinion. The man in question shrugged, but there was a small smile on his face. Finally, Sisko sighed.

“Alright, Julian, looks like you're coming too.”

“Yes, sir!” was the doctor's overeager response.

–

Bashir had managed to get several hours of sleep on the Defiant while the ship was being prepared for the mission. He'd had a few cups of raktajino before he left his quarters to check on how Garak was doing. Bashir reminded himself as he walked through the corridors that Garak likely had some ulterior motive for requesting that he join this mission, but despite his efforts his heart still soared when he thought about it.

_He wanted me here,_ Bashir thought, a smile unconsciously growing on his lips. He caught Garak just as the Cardassian was slipping out of his quarters. Garak greeted him with a pleasant smile, though there was a slight hint of anxiety in his eyes that wasn't normally present.

“Hello, Doctor. I was just about to take a stroll to stretch my legs. The quarters on this vessel are rather claustrophobic.” A very subtle tremor ran through Garak's body. Bashir smiled warmly at him.

“Yes, they're quite tight on this ship, aren't they? The Defiant isn't meant for long missions. Now the Enterprise, there was a ship you could live on! My quarters there were almost as large as my ones on the station,” Bashir rambled happily. Garak nodded and gave the doctor a polite smile.

“Thank you for doing this, by the way,” Bashir said softly. “I'm sure you could have found a way not to if you'd wanted.” Garak ignored the warmth he felt at the doctor's words and focused instead on how uncomfortable the ship was making him feel.

“Yes, well, I may be regretting this decision,” he replied with a pained smile.

“Feeling uneasy?”

“Feeling out of my element, Doctor. I've never been on a Federation Starship before. Somehow I thought it would be a bit more hospitable.”

“Well, the Defiant is an exception,” Bashir explained. “She's a warship.”

“A warship? How unusual for the Federation.”

“She was made to fight the Borg.”

“I see,” Garak said. It was time for him to get to work. He smiled at the doctor.

“Would you like to accompany me on my walk? Perhaps you could show me around?” Bashir brightened immediately at the invitation, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Of course!” Bashir answered quickly, a giddy smile on his face.

Bashir kept Garak from lingering too long around the interesting areas, and he refused to show him the Romulan cloaking device, of course, but Garak managed to gather enough information to make the journey a successful one. They'd been walking through the access corridor outside the main phaser banks when Odo came across them.

“Garak. Doctor Bashir,” he greeted gruffly, suspicion evident on his face. “Perhaps you two should go to the bridge and see if you can make yourselves useful.” His tone conveyed that it was not a suggestion.

Bashir looked abashed, an embarrassed flush growing on his face, and quickly replied, “Yes, we'll head right over.” Garak followed obediently behind him as they left.

–

They arrived on the bridge just as Sisko ordered a communication opened on the viewscreen.

A Cardassian appeared on screen and spoke, “This is Gul Benil of the Eighth Order. Identify yourself.”

“This is the Kobheerian freighter Rak-Miunis,” Sisko answered. “I'm Captain Viterian. How can I help you?” The adjustment Chief O'Brien had made to their shield harmonics and the holo-filter laid over their comm image appeared to be working.

“What is your destination?”

“Cardassia Prime. We're carrying a shipment of Kobheerian toranium intended for military use.”

“Prepare to be boarded,” Benil announced.

“Gul Benil, our toranium is urgently needed on Cardassia. I would hate for you to have to explain why it was delayed,” Sisko bluffed. Benil was unimpressed.

“The toranium can wait. Maquis activity is on the rise in this sector. By order of the Central Command, all incoming ships are to be stopped and searched.”

Garak stepped forward, carefully remaining out of the frame of the comm.

“Drop the holo-filter,” he commanded. “I can get us out of this if you let me talk to them.” Sisko took this in and glanced back at the viewscreen.

“Please stand by,” he requested before turning his attention to one of the officers. “Are we within their weapons range yet?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Do as he says,” Sisko ordered, “but be prepared to get us out of here fast if it doesn't work.”

Garak moved into the frame as the channel reopened.

“Gul Benil,” Garak greeted, politely but firmly.

“You, you're not Kobheerians,” Benil sputtered. Garak gave him a superior smile.

“Very observant of you. Now turn your ships around.”

“Excuse me?” Benil asked indignantly.

“This is an Alpha Red priority mission, clearance verification nine two one eight black. By the authority of the Central Command, you are ordered to turn your ships around. Erase all record of this encounter from your logs and talk of it to no one. Is that clear?”

Benil's computer chirped, verifying the clearance code. Benil's eyes widened and his attitude immediately changed. Gul Benil was too insecure his rank to dream of questioning the authority of the Obsidian Order.

“My apologies. I had no idea.”

“You were doing your duty,” Garak reassured him. “End transmission.”

Garak turned around. Bashir was grinning at him, clearly delighted that Garak had been helpful. Sisko, however, was the one who spoke.

“Mister Garak, I'm impressed,” he said, an amused smirk on his face. Garak put on his politely bland customer service smile.

“Oh, it was just something I overheard while hemming someone's trousers,” he deflected. “I suggest that we get away from here as quickly as possible, in case Gul Benil should decide to show some initiative.”

Bashir and Garak were quickly dismissed from the bridge, and with Odo still skulking around Bashir was unwilling to take Garak anywhere interesting, so they headed to the mess hall. They got their food and chose a table in the empty room.

“I trust the rest of Starfleet's ships are more pleasant than this. Honestly, the Defiant is oppressive, cramped, and somehow brighter than Deep Space 9. I don't see how you can live on these for years at a time,” Garak complained.

“Generous shore leave mainly,” Bashir joked, then he gave Garak a thoughtful look.

“I wonder if you would have felt the same way about the Enterprise,” he mused.

“That's the Federation flagship, yes?” Garak asked, digging for information more out of habit than out of possible use. “It must have been interesting being stationed there.”

“Oh yes.” Bashir leaned back, smiling. “Traveling the quadrant, making new discoveries.”

“Life on the station must seem quite dull in comparison,” Garak said, ignoring the ache in his chest as the thought occurred that Doctor Bashir was more than qualified to be transferred somewhere else if became bored. Surprisingly, Bashir chuckled.

“With the wormhole nearby? The station doesn't stay dull for long. Besides there are advantages to station life.” He gave Garak a sidelong glance.

“Oh?” Garak asked, his expression carefully neutral.

“Well, for one thing it's much easier to work on long term projects,” Bashir explained innocently, though his eyes sparkled mischievously. “On a starship you're always leaving things behind without any thought to what happens next. On a station you have to live with the consequences of your actions. I've been able to conduct research and perform studies I was never able to do on a starship. I was always too busy with the next mission.” Bashir sighed. “Sometimes I do miss it though. Getting to know all sorts of different species...”

“Ah, the valiant Starfleet officer, seducing his way across space,” Garak teased lightly. Bashir snorted.

“That's the James Kirk style of diplomacy,” Bashir replied. “It's the first thing they teach us at the Academy.”

“Is that how the Federation secured the peace treaty? They sent you to flirt with the Cardassians?”

Bashir didn't laugh. Instead, his mind drifted to his final mission with the Enterprise at Minos Korva and treating Captain Picard's injuries after he was returned by the Cardassians. He shivered as he remembered the wounds he'd repaired and the knowledge that the worst damage was in Picard's mind.

“...No,” Bashir replied softly, his expression dark and grim.

Garak took the doctor's reaction in. Considering what they'd been discussing, Garak guessed that Bashir had seen the aftermath of Gul Madred's interrogation of Captain Picard. It made sense that Bashir, a doctor, would be disgusted by torture, by the systematic breaking of the body and mind when he'd dedicated his life to repairing them. Bashir certainly had reason to treat Cardassians with suspicion and wariness, like Chief O'Brien did, and yet he'd not only sought Garak out, he'd trusted him, he'd pursued him, he'd... Garak forced his mind away from that path. That option was closed to him. Even if it wasn't, Bashir would never think of him like that if he knew the truth, knew the kinds of things Garak had done, the people he'd killed, the people he'd broken.

“I apologize, Doctor, it seems our discussion has gotten off-track,” Garak said. He wanted to drive that sadness from the doctor's face. Bashir gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“No, I'm sorry,” he apologized. “My mind wandered off.” There was another pause, then Bashir's combadge chirped and Sisko was telling them to get ready to retrieve Major Kira. They were almost at Cardassia Prime.

–

Sisko, Garak and Odo beamed down to the planet, leaving Bashir to wait in the transporter room with his medkit. He didn't have to wait long before five people appeared in the transporter room. The two figures he didn't recognize were an older Cardassian man and a young Cardassian woman. The woman quickly rushed over to him.

“Doctor, can you fix this?” she asked, gesturing to her face. Bashir did a double-take as he recognized the voice.

“Major Kira?” he asked. He took a closer look, she certainly resembled the Bajoran woman to an extent that it was either her or her Cardassian twin. Bashir looked at Sisko, who nodded.

“What happened to you?” Kira sighed.

“It's a long story,” she answered. “Can you change me back?”

“Not until we get back to the station, I'm afraid. The Defiant isn't equipped for plastic surgery,” he explained. She groaned.

“I can give you a sedative if you'd rather sleep through the trip,” he offered. Kira shook her head.

“Thank you, Doctor, but I'd rather not be drugged again.” Bashir nodded.

“Would you accompany me to the infirmary so I can run a few tests? I'd like to know the extent of what I'm dealing with.” Kira gestured for him to lead the way.

–

While the doctor took Kira in for surgery as soon as they reached the station, Garak sent off a report with what he'd learned about the Defiant, as well as his justification for interfering with Entek's plan for Legate Ghemor. Entek would likely complain, but then Garak could have easily killed him if he'd thought Entek's complaints would be a problem. Garak had wanted to minimize his interference in the Obsidian Order's other affairs though, and had left the man alive. Besides, Ghemor had been chased off to where he couldn't be a threat. The Order could easily spin his flight into proof of his betrayal and therefore proof of dissidence within the Central Command, which had been Entek's main goal in the first place.

–

Before he left, Ghemor made sure to warn Kira about Garak.

“That Garak fellow who helped you, helped us. Don't trust him, Nerys. Ever. He's a dangerous man and he'd betray you and all of your friends in an instant if he thought it would help him.” Iliana and Garak had trained together for a time, so Ghemor knew better than most the threat he posed.

“I'll keep my eye on him,” Kira promised.


	11. Civil Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 3x07 - Civil Defense

It was only a few weeks after Kira was rescued from Cardassia Prime that O'Brien, Sisko, and Jake tripped an old counter-insurgency protocol. Bashir considered himself very lucky that he'd been in Ops when it happened. He did not envy the task the infirmary staff would have. Kira had managed to get the door opened, only to find a force field blocking their path.

“You know, I've been here nearly three years and I was just finally starting to think of this place as home,” Bashir said, half joking, half complaining.

“Your home was built by Cardassians, Doctor. Don't ever forget that,” Kira replied gravely. Bashir sighed, glaring at the force field that kept them trapped.

“No, there's not much chance of that, is there,” he grumbled lightly. Bashir was left with nothing to do but wait while Jadzia tried to create a workaround. His brain immediately began running through different contingencies, calculating their odds of survival.

Suddenly there was an explosion from the terminal Jadzia was working on. Bashir ran over, his brain still running through calculations as his feet guided him. He shouted for a medkit as he pulled Jadzia away from the still-smoking terminal.

“Easy, Jadzia. I have to take a look,” he soothed, quickly falling into his professional role. Jadzia explained what happened, clearly shaken up, while Kira handed him a medkit.

“They're second degree burns but I don't think there's any neural damage,” he explained calmly. “This should relieve the pain.” He pressed the hypospray to Jadzia's neck and held her as her pulse and breathing slowly returned to normal. She had pretty much calmed down when Bashir heard Garak arrive. Bashir glanced at the ladder out of the pit, then guiltily turned his gaze back to the injured woman in his arms. Jadzia rolled her eyes and mouthed “Go” at him. He smiled at her and climbed back to the main level of Ops.

–

Garak had been having a quiet, peaceful day of working on uniform repairs and alterations, mostly Starfleet, but some Bajorans had started coming to him as well. That peace had been ruined by a message from Dukat regarding a worker revolt in the ore processing facility playing throughout the entire station.

He'd paused, but continued his work until another announcement played and a force field appeared in his door. That got his attention. The program was only going to escalate unless it could be stopped and communications were down. Garak tried his override code, ordering the program to shut down. He even tried several high level Obsidian Order authorization codes. Nothing. He made his way to the door and used his access code. He was permitted through the force field. He quickly headed to the turbolift. He ordered it to take him to Ops. They were likely going to need his help.

He arrived just in time to hear Dukat's recording threatening to pump neurocine gas into the habitat ring.

“Habitat ring. There have to be hundreds of people trapped in their quarters out there,” Major Kira said angrily.

“I believe that's the point, Major,” Garak commented, announcing his presence. He gave his access code and walked through the doorway.

“If you can get past the force fields, you've got to get out to the habitat ring and start evacuating those people before-” Kira started.

“I'd like nothing better than to help my loyal customers, but it's not that simple. My access code enables me to move about the station, but unfortunately, as you've just seen, the force fields reappear the moment I pass through a doorway,” Garak explained. It was at this point Bashir appeared.

“Have you tried using your code to shut down the security program?” he asked Garak. Garak gave him a bemused look.

“Several times, but for some reason I can't begin to fathom, Gul Dukat chose not to trust me with his top level security codes during the occupation.”

“Garak, do you know a way we can stop this neurocine gas?” Bashir asked, any trace of mirth gone from his face. Garak considered the question for a moment.

“The only way to do that is to destroy the life support system,” he answered. Kira, predictably did not like the suggestion.

“What are you trying to do, Garak? Get us all killed?” she demanded. Bashir analyzed Garak's answer.

“No, wait a minute. He's right. The neurocine gas is released through the life support system. Destroy it and we save everyone in the habitat ring.” Bashir actually felt a bit disappointed that he hadn't realized that sooner. For all that his augmentations allowed him to analyze possibilities faster, they did not protect him from making oversights.

“For twelve hours,” Jadzia commented, making her way over to them. “And then everyone on the station will suffocate when we run out of oxygen.”

“Well, that gives us twelve hours to regain control of this station,” Bashir replied. Twelve hours was much better than a few minutes.

“Believe me, Major, it's the only way to save those people,” Garak added. “I believe life support is controlled from over there.” He pointed. Kira's mind was made up.

“Get down,” she ordered, taking careful aim at the indicated console. She fired and the lights flickered, leaving the station lit only by the emergency lights. They only had a few moments of relief before Gul Dukat appeared once again on the monitors to tell them that the self-destruct sequence had been initiated and the station would be destroyed in two hours.

–

Bashir went to check on Jadzia, if only to keep himself from hovering over Garak's shoulder while the man worked. The doctor apologized for not being able to do more than emergency treatment until they could get to the infirmary. Jadzia smiled reassuringly at him. Their attention was brought back to the immediate crisis by Garak explaining that the only person who could disable the program was Gul Dukat.

“Maybe there's a way to fool the computer into thinking that you are Gul Dukat. You could try rewriting your code to match his,” Jadzia suggested. Garak let out a frustrated sigh.

“Even if I could, it wouldn't do any good. If I were to input his code, the computer would scan my DNA pattern to determine if I really were Dukat,” he replied.

“But what if we disabled the sensors in Ops so that the computer couldn't scan you?” she asked. Garak smiled, genuinely impressed by the idea.

“What a creative idea. It certainly is worth a try.”

“The question is, can we disconnect the sensors without getting anyone else hurt,” Bashir cautioned, raising his concerns. That he'd barely been able to treat Jadzia's injuries at all still worried him. He could only administer emergency treatments while they were trapped here.

Kira, ever pragmatic, pushed that caution aside, saying, “We're just going to have to take that chance.” Bashir gave a solemn nod as Kira and Jadzia went off to work on the sensors. He made his way over to where Garak was working, his mouth drawn into a small frown as he focused. Bashir felt a fond expression growing on his face despite himself; his mind drifted back to happier memories. Garak glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and noticed his expression.

“Tell me, Doctor, what is it exactly about this situation that's making you smile?” he asked, keeping most of his attention on his work. Bashir's small smile grew slightly at the other man's words.

“You, Garak,” he said, just a little too warmly. “Just wondering how many other tailors can rewrite Cardassian security protocols.” He added the second sentence quickly, trying to cover the extent of his affections. Garak chuckled at the familiar banter.

“I wouldn't even venture a guess.” He dropped the conversation to focus briefly before muttering, “Oh, this is a problem.”

“What's wrong?” Bashir asked, instantly attentive and serious.

“I always suspected that Dukat was a little paranoid. He's left a rather large number of interrogative subroutines embedded in his access code.” Garak's fingers flew furiously across the console as he worked.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning the computer is constantly challenging to prove I am who I say I am. Lieutenant, how much long before you can disable those sensors?” he asked with audibly rising dread.

“At least another ten minutes,” Jadzia replied.

“I'm not sure we have that much time,” Garak commented. “In fact, I'm sure we don't.” No sooner had he said it than the computer announced the initiation of the program's next level. The replicator activated, creating a weapon.

Garak didn't hesitate, even before the weapon started firing he grabbed the doctor and pulled them down to the ground just as a man near them was shot and killed. Garak could feel Bashir's pulse racing where his hand still rested on the man's shoulder.

“Julian, are you alright?” Garak asked, the name slipping out despite himself. Bashir blinked and turned his gaze to the Cardassian.

“What was that, Garak?”

“Are you alright, Doctor?” Garak asked again, correcting his mistake.

“Yes, sorry about-,” Bashir apologized, waving his hand vaguely as if to indicate both the whole situation and the previous moment. Reassured that the doctor wasn't going to put himself back into the line of fire, Garak pulled his hand away. He'd already let the contact linger longer than necessary.

“My phaser is on the Ops table. Can anyone get to it?” Kira called out from across the room. Bashir looked around, his brain calculating that even the person closest to the table had only a 12.6% chance of making it to the phaser alive, let alone getting a chance to use it.

“The answer, Major, is no,” Bashir answered.

“Well, we can't stay here and do nothing,” Kira complained.

“I respectfully disagree, Major,” Garak responded from where he was kneeling beside Bashir. “Nothing is all we can do.” This was it. This was how he would die.

Garak looked at Bashir's solemn expression. He watched the doctor lean his head back against the console they were hiding behind. Garak could see that he had registered their fate, but his brain was still whirling through ideas just in case there was an option left to them. He hadn't yet accepted that they would not be surviving this.

Garak glanced around. They were alone behind their console. No one could see them. No one would see if he allowed himself a small indulgence. His eyes fell to the doctor's hand, lying innocently on the ground between them. Garak carefully lay his hand on top of the doctor's. Bashir's eyes snapped open and he turned his head to look at Garak, his expression silently querying the other man. Garak gave him a resigned smile. Bashir's lips quirked upward into a smile of their own.

The moment was shattered by the distinct sound of someone beaming in.

“Let me guess, someone tried to duplicate my access code,” Gul Dukat said smugly.

“Dukat, what the hell are you doing here?” Kira demanded with as much authority and venom as she could project from under a table. Dukat started lecturing as he leisurely made his way over to the replicator. The firing stopped when Dukat ordered a red leaf tea. Bashir cautiously peeked his head above the console.

“Doctor,” Dukat said in a warning tone as the weapon reappeared. A blast fired at where Bashir's head had just been as he ducked back down. Garak reached out his free hand as much to reassure himself that Bashir was alright as to help steady the other man.

“What do you want, Dukat?” Kira asked angrily, clearly tired of the situation.

“You'll find I don't react well to that tone of voice, Major,” Dukat gloated as he strolled across Ops. Dukat's face lit up arrogantly when he spotted the other Cardassian crouching next to the doctor. “Garak, grovelling in a corner. That alone makes my trip worthwhile.”

Garak stood up from where he'd been hiding. Hopefully his gamble would pay off and the weapon would ignore all Cardassians, that it wasn't just Gul Dukat who was safe. Even more important, Garak hoped he'd moved quickly enough that Dukat hadn't noticed Garak's attentions had been less on the Gul strutting around Ops and had instead been focused intently on the man beside him. The man in question, of course, only saw Garak putting himself in danger.

“Garak!” Bashir exclaimed, hands already reaching to pull him back down.

“Easy, Doctor,” Garak said calmly, not taking his eyes off of Gul Dukat. “It would appear that the computer is only targeting non-Cardassians.” Dukat sneered at him.

“If you had been on the station when I designed this program, I would have made an exception in your case.”

Garak smiled politely and adopted an appropriately deferential posture. He asked in an overly sweet tone, “Are you still upset about your father, Gul Dukat? It was a tragedy for his life to end in such a disgraceful way.” Dukat sneered at him.

“The only disgrace was that he trusted _you_.” Garak's smile grew sharper.

“Funny, his trial determined the disgrace was that he let his ambition outweigh his patriotism.”

Dukat fumed, preparing to strike back when Kira shouted from across the room.

“Maybe you two could settle this another time!” Dukat instantly calmed, though he became no less smug.

“You're right, Major,” he replied with false politeness before turning his attention back to Garak., his voice falling into a menacing growl. “Oh, believe me, Garak, that time is coming. Tain can't protect you anymore and there are many people who would like to see you fall.” Garak met his gaze steadily, his smile unfaltering. His threat delivered, Dukat straightened up and crossed over to where Kira was hiding.

“Major, why don't you join me in the Commander's office where we can talk in private,” he invited. Kira gave him a questioning look, glancing in the direction of the weapon that was still firing.

“Oh. I forgot. The replicator. Well, it's the least I can do.” The pleasantness in Dukat's voice was transparently fake. He tapped a command into the replicator and the weapon disappeared.

“You can all rise now. You're safe, for the moment,” he said in a tone that was both patronizing and magnanimous. Then he and Major Kira headed into Sisko's office to negotiate.

Bashir waited a few moments to make sure the weapon wouldn't reappear before taking Garak's offered hand and standing. Bashir kept Garak's hand for only a moment longer than necessary before the Cardassian pulled it away. Despite his small relief at there now being a possibility of their survival, his heart ached at the disappearance of the affection Garak had been showing towards him. Bashir bit back a sigh and went to check on Jadzia's injuries, if only to distract himself from the mixed signals Garak kept sending him.

Garak pretended not to watch as Bashir walked over to Jadzia, tamping down on a flare of jealousy as he watched the doctor tenderly take her hands.

_She's injured, he's a doctor,_ he reminded himself.  _Besides, it's pointless feeling possessive. I can't get involved again._ Garak forced himself to focus on Dukat and Kira leaving the Commander's office. At least watching Gul Dukat's arrogance face off against Major Kira's stubbornness would be an entertaining distraction.

Bashir could feel Jadzia watching him closely. He could see the concern on her face. Luckily, she was cut off from voicing any of her thoughts by another recording appearing. This time though it was a different Cardassian calling Dukat a coward and saying that the destruct sequence could no longer be halted.

Everyone slowly turned to look at Dukat as the Gul stood stunned and fuming. Eventually he recovered from his shock enough to order the computer to shut down the self-destruct sequence complete with his authorization code.

The computer blandly responded, “Request denied. All authorization codes are void. Time to self-destruct, twenty-five minutes.”

“Even your own computer program turns against you. I should have known your arrogance would be your downfall,” Garak taunted, taking out his frustration on the other Cardassian. They were still going to die _and_ he was going going to spend his last half hour having to listen to Gul Dukat preen. He couldn't even allow himself another moment of weakness with the doctor, since any actions they took would certainly be observed.

“I don't see you coming up with any ideas, _tailor_ ,” Dukat sniped back.

Major Kira, evidently having tired of them trading insults, started questioning Dukat about the self-destruct sequence and how to shut it down. Bashir and Jadzia walked over to join them around the table, but while Jadzia moved closed to Kira and Dukat and began adding her thoughts, Bashir moved towards Garak with a bit more trepidation than usual and silently joined the tailor in observing the others as they tried to find a way out of their current predicament.

After the second time Dukat made a self-aggrandizing comment aimed at the Major, Garak decided to intervene. After all, if he was going to be miserable because of Dukat, it was only fair that Dukat should be miserable because of him.

“How is your lovely wife?” Garak asked, his tone deferential and polite. Dukat pulled his gaze away from Kira to fix Garak with a puzzled look at the unrelated question.

“What are you babbling about now?”

“She must be so relieved to have you home, eating her Cardassian cooking,” Garak replied sweetly, his gaze slowly sliding from Dukat to the Major, “rather than _sampling_ the _local_ cuisine.” Dukat's reaction was instantaneous.

“ _Garak!_ ” he hissed, his ridges flaring to show dominance in response to the threat. Garak allowed himself to smirk. Kira's eyes flickered suspiciously back and forth between them.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. Garak let his smirk soften into a friendly smile.

“Believe me, Major, it's nothing you have any interest in,” Garak replied. He glanced to the side to check the doctor's reaction. Judging by the way his eyes had widened, the doctor had understood exactly what had been implied.

“Wait a minute. What about the power supply grid?” Jadzia asked, pushing aside the tension as she got Kira and Dukat back to work on their predicament.

Garak let them work. It appeared they might live after all.

Bashir lingered near Garak as the others got to work. There was nothing more he could do to help now. His mind started to consider a more personal puzzle. Garak certainly cared for him, that much was clear, but he was unwilling to show it unless they were unobserved and about to die. Bashir bit back a sigh. It seemed like he wouldn't be getting anything more than polite friendliness out of the other man for the foreseeable future.

Once the self-destruct was halted and the turbolifts were restored, Bashir whisked Jadzia out of Ops. He brought her to the infirmary and started working on her hands.

“So,” Jadzia said, breaking the silence that had hung over them. “Garak.” Bashir let out a sigh that he'd been holding back for ages. Jadzia looked at him with concern.

“He's...confusing,” Bashir said, his frustration slipping into his voice. “He keeps sending mixed signals. I wish he'd...I wish he'd just stop. It would be easier than _this._ ” Bashir waved his hand in a circle.

Jadzia nodded sympathetically and said, “That can be rough. Maybe you should try dating again, or at least flirting?” Bashir sighed again.

“I just need to stop hoping for something that will never happen,” he answered.

“Well, I'm here if you need anything,” she replied with a supportive smile.

“Thanks, Jadzia,” he said sincerely. “Now, how do your hands feel?” She flexed them a few times.

“Good as new, Julian.” She grinned at him. “Now, why don't we go to Quark's for a drink? I'd say we've earned it.” He grinned back.

“That sounds delightful.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking with this. It means a lot to me that people are still enjoying this!


	12. Vignettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Covers the events of:  
> 3x10 - Fascination  
> 3x15 - Destiny  
> 3x16 - Prophet Motive  
> 3x18 - Distant Voices

Deep Space 9's third Gratitude Festival had turned out to be more eventful than anyone had anticipated, but after a few days the Zanthi Fever was out of everyone's systems and all those affected had made full recoveries. Bashir and Jadzia decided to meet for drinks in Quark's to commiserate about their actions while they'd been affected.

“Ugh, Ben was such a good sport putting up with me for that long. Honestly, I have no idea how he did it considering I could barely put up with Bareil for a few hours,” Jadzia said admiringly. Bashir chuckled.

“I wish I could have actually seen some of that,” he said. “I had my hands full at the time, if you'll recall.” She laughed, then someone caught her eye.

“Garak!” she exclaimed brightly, waving him over. Bashir's eyes widened as he turned and saw Garak heading towards them.

“Jadzia!” he hissed at her. She brushed him off and met Garak, leading him back to their table.

“Garak, you have to hear about what happened at the Gratitude Festival,” she enthused. “Julian can fill you in, I have to get going.” Bashir stood. She said her farewell with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” she whispered in a light tone.

Bashir gave her a slightly annoyed look.

“Honestly, this is a good story,” she said, cutting him off as she turned to Garak. “Don't let him spare any details.” With that she left. Bashir muttered a curse under his breath at her retreating figure. He reluctantly turned his gaze to Garak, who wore a polite expression.

“Well, Doctor?” he prompted. Bashir bit back a sigh.

“It's not that interesting, Garak,” he lied quickly. “More embarrassing than anything else.”

“Really? It didn't seem like it from the way Lieutenant Dax described it,” Garak prompted, seeing straight through the shallow lie. Bashir thought quickly, searching for a way to escape the conversation.

“Honestly, I'm rather tired,” he deflected, letting a yawn escape for emphasis. “I'm going to turn in. Goodnight, Garak.” He immediately turned and left, not even stopping for Garak's farewell, heading back to his quarters.

Garak raised an eye ridge at the doctor's retreating form. His gaze slid quickly to Quark. The Ferengi would know what was going on. It was his business to know.

“What is the reasoning of discussing something in public, if you're going to get defensive when someone else wants to hear about it?” he asked as he walked over to the bar. “What is wrong with the Federation, really?” Quark gave him a knowing look.

“You don't have to tell me twice,” he answered. “They get so defensive about the silliest things.” He glanced around cautiously before moving closer to Garak. “They're a surprisingly horny bunch.”

“Oh?” Garak prompted, his curiosity growing by the second. Quark smiled.

“Did you notice the Betazoid woman who came to the station a few days ago?”

Garak nodded, and Quark explained exactly what had happened during the Gratitude Festival. Garak kept up a mask of polite interest throughout the whole thing, but inside he was jealous despite himself. Once the story was done, he thanked Quark, made his excuses, and left.

_I just want to confirm Quark's story,_ he told himself as his feet took him to Doctor Bashir's quarters.

_This isn't jealousy_ , he lied as he pressed the chime.

The door slid open to reveal Doctor Bashir wearing his blue striped pajamas, a good sign that the man was alone in his bed. Garak smirked.  _The doctor rarely bothered to change when he was with me._ The possessive thought flitted through his head before he smothered it.

“Really, Doctor. Why bother hiding the truth when you know I'll be able to get it so easily?” he gloated. Bashir blinked.

“Who told you? ...it was Quark, wasn't it?” An embarrassed blush formed on Bashir's face as he considered exactly what Quark's retelling would entail. Garak laughed.

“You and Major Kira acting like a pair of Cardassian voles in heat.” Garak laughed again, trusting that Bashir's discomfort would keep him from seeing any pain that managed to leak through his act. Bashir let out a tired sigh, covering his face with his hand.

“Yes, yes. It's very embarrassing, and you're very clever for finding out,” Bashir conceded quickly.

Garak immediately continued with an amused smile, “I only wish I could have been there to see it.” He made sure to keep the teasing smile on his face, even though his thoughts were imagining a wholly different scenario than that expression would suggest.

_If I'd been there, I could have been affected instead of her. I would have been able to be with you and then later blame the weakness on the Betazoid's meddling._ Garak's eyes dipped briefly to Bashir's lips, pulled tight in a pained expression.  _At least I could have helped you, could have stopped you from making a fool of yourself with the Major._ Bashir managed to look Garak in the eye, offering a weak smile.

“If you had been there, you likely would have been affected too,” Bashir stated, shaking his head. “You wouldn't have been able to help.” Garak's expression turned slightly more serious, though his voice maintained its light tone.

“I think not, Doctor. A Cardassian knows how to resist his passions and desires, no matter how much it pains him, if it will ultimately do more harm than good.” He paused, watching the doctor's breath stutter, watching his eyes widen and his pupils dilate. Garak allowed a moment to enjoy the effect he could still have on the man, then he forced himself to disengage.

“...Well, I'll be leaving you now, Doctor,” he announced. Bashir recovered quickly, his expression falling into a polite mask.

“Goodnight, Garak.” Garak smiled and walked away, leaving the doctor, once again, alone.

–

O'Brien had asked Bashir to join him in Quark's for a drink after the Cardassian scientists had left. Bashir had agreed and so the two sat at the bar with their drinks, and O'Brien talked about his experience working with Gilora.

“The whole time I thought she couldn't stand me, all we did was argue,” O'Brien explained. Bashir let out a snicker which he turned into a cough when O'Brien looked at him. “How was I supposed to know she was flirting?” Bashir smiled at his friend.

“Flirting _is_ covered in the Starfleet guidebook on Cardassians, Chief,” he answered lightly.

“Oh,” O'Brien replied, realizing that some assumptions he'd made about Bashir's relationship with Garak needed to be reevaluated. “I figured you just...picked up on it after a while.” Bashir's smile remained, but his eyes revealed a bit of sadness.

“I did my research,” he said casually, as if the topic didn't pain him. O'Brien picked up on the pain, but he wasn't sure how Bashir wanted to handle it. So he defaulted to his normal method for dealing with uncomfortable subjects: he changed the topic.

“I hope Gilora isn't in trouble when she gets back to Cardassia.” Bashir sipped at his drink.

“She'll likely be fine,” Bashir said, then he launched into an explanation. “Right now the Obsidian Order is somewhat weakened, and the Central Command and Detapa Council both favor peace with the Federation.” O'Brien nodded and the two drank in silence for a bit, then O'Brien decided to break it. The question went against his instincts, but he felt Bashir needed to know that O'Brien knew how the other man felt, even if he didn't understand it.

“You really loved that tailor, huh?” Bashir looked down at his drink, his smile turning pained.

“No need to speak in past tense, Chief,” he answered with a look that was clearly meant to be more amused than it came across.

O'Brien knew that that point was not welcome to be brought up again, but he studied the doctor. The man took another drink and acted like he was beyond cheery on a daily basis, but this was a man whose heart was still broken.

–

Jadzia had nominated him for the Carrington Award. A small jolt of panic ran through Bashir at the thought. The most prestigious honor a Federation doctor could earn, generally given to recognize a lifetime of medical achievement, and he'd been nominated before he'd even turned 50.

_It's alright_ , Bashir reassured himself.  _I may be less than half the age of the other nominees, but I'm not the youngest person ever nominated._

It wasn't unheard of for a brilliant doctor, well into their career, to receive nominations for awards they wouldn't win as a way of recognizing a particularly impressive bit of research. This was still within the bounds of a naturally brilliant human's accomplishments.

If he won, that would be different. He would become the youngest person to win the Carrington Award. He would be an outlier. But the odds of him winning were mercifully small. Doctor Wade was the favorite, especially since she'd already been nominated once.

That's what he'd been telling himself until Odo had told him Doctor Wade wasn't going to win the Carrington. The constable had been quite keen to stress that if Wade wasn't going to win the award, anyone could. In fact, Odo had heard that Bashir was currently the front-runner with the Federation Medical Council thanks to someone's influence, giving him better odds. Bashir had hidden the sinking feeling in his stomach from Odo, and then spent some time in his quarters mentally going through his friends, contacts, and professional acquaintances, trying to determine who could possibly be pushing his case.

His parents would never. For all that they'd wanted a brilliant son they were too worried, and quite rightly, about him appearing too brilliant and being discovered. Palis wouldn't either. They'd ended their marriage on friendly terms and they still occasionally exchanged messages, but they weren't close enough that she'd spend her time on him. He couldn't see any of the captains or other doctors he'd served under doing it either.

There was only one option who sprang to mind, even though it didn't make sense on the face of it. Why would Garak work for him to win the Carrington Award? Garak didn't appear to have anything to gain by it, the only one who would benefit was Bashir himself. And yet, it felt very much like the indecisive fragments of affection the Cardassian had been showing him.

Bashir resolved to confront Garak about this and put an end to it if the Cardassian was involved.

He found Garak in his shop, seated at his work table, focusing on some detail work. Garak waited for him to walk over before greeting him.

“Hello, Doctor, how may I help you?” he asked politely, his customer service smile firmly in place. Bashir deliberately kept his face in a politely neutral expression.

“Jadzia nominated me for the Carrington Award,” he announced. Garak raised an eye ridge.

“Congratulations,” he offered. Bashir snorted.

“Don't bother, I'm not going to win,” Bashir said. “As long as you don't interfere.” Garak's face was the picture of innocence, which, of course, meant he knew exactly what the doctor was talking about.

“I'm sure I don't know what you're implying,” Garak protested. Bashir glared at him.

“Don't play dumb with me, Garak. Odo told me that Doctor Wade wasn't going to win, that I was the front-runner!” Bashir exclaimed. Garak sighed and gave Bashir a dubious look.

“Doctor, is it so hard for you to believe that you could actually win this award? Do you doubt your abilities to such an extreme?” A predatory smirk crept onto his face. “Or, is the idea that I would do this for you simply more appealing than your own professional success?” Garak's smile returned to politeness as he shook his head. “Accept the results that you are given. Whether it be in your career... or your relationships.”

His point made, Garak went to turn back to his work, only to be stopped by Bashir slamming his hand down and leaning across the table, invading Garak's personal space, the doctor's face bearing a grim expression as he loomed over the tailor. Garak was struck with the sudden impulse to recoil, to put some space between himself and the man he had clearly pushed too far, but he suppressed it, unwilling to show any weakness.

“Garak. You can try to confuse the issue all you want and continue to mask your intentions, but the fact of the matter is that you're the one who has not accepted the results of our relationship. I've been open and honest with you about my feelings, but you continue to play these games. I don't know what you think you're gaining from this, I don't know if this even hurts you the way it hurts me, but I'm done playing.” Bashir let out a sigh and for a brief moment his expression softened, and Garak could see the sadness and hurt and regret on open display in Bashir's eyes. Then Bashir's gaze dropped.

He took a breath before continuing, “I still value your friendship. And I still would like to share lunches.” His eyes flicked back up, the steely determination and frustration held there cutting Garak's heart like a knife. “But unless you want to pursue a romantic relationship again, stop torturing me.” Bashir remained still, leaning over Garak, eyes intently watching the tailor.

Garak shifted his posture and expression to show none of the regret he felt, instead hiding it all behind a mask of distance and dismissal. When he spoke, his voice was icy, “Noted, Doctor.”

Bashir's expression flinched for a brief moment, but that was quickly pushed away as Bashir straightened up and gave a stiff nod, before turning on his heel and leaving.

Garak forced himself not to watch the doctor walk away, instead he considered his options regarding Bashir, and who would win the Carrington Award now that his original plan had been so thoroughly rejected.

–

Bashir had been inundated with friends and coworkers telling him that he should have won the Carrington Award and wishing him better luck next time. He'd smiled and joked about how maybe in a few decades he'd stand a chance. All the while he hid his relief at the outcome.

Garak approached Bashir while he strolled along the Promenade.

“I heard Doctor Roget won the Carrington,” Garak announced. Bashir smiled.

“Yes, he did.”

“If I may, I'd like to congratulate you on at least being nominated. It's a credit to your work, one you completely deserved.” Garak tilted his head to better look at the doctor, to make sure that his apology was being received and understood. Bashir nodded.

“Thank you, Garak. I appreciate that.” Garak smiled.

“Perhaps, Doctor, you would care to join me for lunch?” he asked. Bashir considered the invitation.

“Alright,” he accepted.

–

Only a few weeks later they'd met for their usual lunch. They'd made some friendly small talk before Garak presented Bashir with an isolinear rod with a ribbon tied around it in a bow.

“Happy birthday. I know it's a few days off, but I wanted to give you your present early. It's a Cardassian holosuite program. An adaptation of one of Shoggoth's enigma tales.” Bashir suppressed a wince, but he took the gift with a warm smile and a thank you accepting the gift for what it was: a carefully calculated sign of friendly affection.

Garak giving him clothing, both that Bashir had ordered and as gifts, had been such a large part of their previous relationship, that it would have come across as too intimate. O'Brien was likely getting him a new racket, the other obvious friendly gift. So Garak had turned to literature, which still remained a comfortable topic for them, despite everything. Garak wouldn't have known which Earth literature to give, so he stuck with the literature he knew best: Cardassian. Enigma tales had always been the genre of Cardassian literature that Bashir came the closest to enjoying.

While Garak had certainly noticed Bashir's brief flash of disappointment, he made no comment on it. Since Bashir had delivered his ultimatum, Garak had very deliberately followed the doctor's lead on how argumentative to be in their discussions. Their literature debates had been replaced by more general discussions, where neither tried to convince the other of his point of view. Anyone familiar with Cardassian flirtation would see no signs of it here.

“Is Lieutenant Dax throwing one of her surprise parties for you this year?” Garak asked, trying to bring the conversation back to safe territory.

“Oh, so I'm told,” Bashir sighed. Garak gave Bashir a sideways glance. It was unusual for the doctor to sound so uninterested in station gossip, especially a party thrown by Dax.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you don't sound enthusiastic about it,” Garak said in a cautious tone, his need for information driving him to be a little less careful than normal.

“It's not that I don't appreciate all the trouble she goes to and everything,” Bashir clarified. His expression became a bit sheepish as he continued, “It's just that this year is a little different.”

“How so?” Bashir's gaze became intently focused on his plate, where he was absently pushing food around with his fork.

“This will be my fiftieth birthday,” Bashir mumbled. When he didn't continue, Garak prompted him.

“And?” Bashir leaned back with a sigh, his fork left on the plate.

“Well, in many human cultures, the fiftieth birthday is considered a sort of landmark. It signals the end of the prime of life and the slow descent into old age.” Garak raised an eye ridge.

“I wasn't aware that humans saw growing old as a negative experience,” he commented, carefully making sure his tone held no judgment. “On Cardassia, advanced age is seen as a sign of power and dignity.” It was also often seen as attractive in a lover, since they would have the benefit of experience and ideally be established in their career as well. This was, of course, not something Garak would say aloud given the strained status of their relationship.

“I am well aware that aging is part of the natural process of life. It's just that I don't want to be reminded of it, that's all,” Bashir declared, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice. “Look, Garak, in two days I turn fifty. If I choose to be grumpy about it, that's my prerogative.”

Garak raised his eye ridges, wondering if the doctor remembered how grumpiness usually read to Cardassians. Bashir rolled his eyes, it seemed he did remember, even if he wasn't going to adjust his attitude because of it. Garak raised his hands in surrender.

“By all means, Doctor, be as grumpy as you like,” he conceded.

“Thank you for the support,” Bashir said in a clipped tone.

They were interrupted by Quark and a Lethean who wanted to buy biomemetic gel. Bashir brusquely sent them off after pointing out that even attempting to obtain biomemetic gel was a felony under Federation law.

After finishing the rest of their lunch uninterrupted, Garak left to return to his shop and Bashir headed back to the infirmary. He arrived to find the place dark and deserted. Bashir called for lights, revealing the Lethean searching through the shelves.

Bashir moved to call for security, but the Lethean lunged at him, attacking his head with some sort of electricity. Bashir collapsed, the world fading around him.

He was in a coma. He ran about on a mad mission in his own mind. Desperately trying to make it to Ops, watching warped versions of his friends, all representing parts of himself, be killed as the Lethean tried to stop him, all while he steadily grew older and older. He fell, his hip breaking as he hit the floor.

Garak appeared then, helping him up, taking him to Ops, where Palis greeted him, looking just as she had the night he'd proposed to her. His two former lovers serenaded him with “Happy Birthday”, then Palis had placed a party hat on his head and given him a kiss.

Bashir pushed her aside and ordered Garak to help him fix the station. They were running out of time. He had Garak pull a panel off the wall, and a wave of tennis balls came spilling out. Garak glanced around at Bashir lying on the floor surrounded by a sea of tennis balls and declared fixing the station a lost cause. Bashir kept struggling, giving the Cardassian a sideways glance.

“That doesn't sound like the Garak I know,” he declared.

“We've been through this, Doctor. I'm not Garak. I'm you,” Garak replied dryly.

“Well it doesn't sound like me either,” Bashir shot back, a thought clicking in his mind as tennis balls poured out of a second panel. “I've been thinking. Why did the Lethean let you live? He killed everyone else who could've helped me. Exactly what part of me do you represent? Is it my conscience? My curiosity? Hmm, is it? Is it my sense of humor?” Garak quirked an eye ridge.

“You tell me.” Bashir turned towards the Cardassian, giving him an appraising look.

“I don't think that you are any part of me. In fact, I don't even think you belong here at all. Which leaves me with just one question. Who are you?” Garak's smile turned sinister as he shifted and transformed into the Lethean.

“You've put up an entertaining struggle, Doctor,” the Lethean congratulated. Bashir scoffed.

“Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Now it's time to make things easy on yourself.”

“Oh, you mean just give up?” Bashir asked with a wry grin. He shook his head firmly. “I don't think so.”

“Why not? Isn't that what you've always done? Remember, Doctor, I'm inside your head. I know all about you. When you were younger, you wanted to be a tennis player, didn't you.” Bashir stiffened.

“I wasn't good enough to play professionally,” he replied.

“Don't lie to me. Not in here. You were good enough. But you knew your parents wouldn't approve of it. So you gave up and you became a doctor instead.”

“I love medicine,” Bashir said harshly.

“But you loved tennis more. And what about medical school and your dreams of Starfleet? Palis asked you to stay on Earth and you let that dream rot for years, which is why you're now serving under a man you taught.”

“Ben is a fine man and I'm proud to serve under him.” The Lethean chuckled.

“Then let's talk about plain, simple Garak.” Bashir took in a sharp breath. The Lethean smirked. “You miss him, don't you?”

“He's still my friend,” Bashir said firmly.

“But he could still be so much more if you'd worked harder to keep him. But you'd rather give up than fight, wouldn't you?” the Lethean taunted. Bashir fixed the Lethean with a glare.

“We'll see about that.”

Bashir went to the infirmary. He'd made a mistake trying to fix the station from Ops. This was a representation of his mind. The infirmary was the center of his world. Bashir got to work.

“You're dying,” the Lethean stated. “Why can't you just accept it?”

“Because that's what you want me to do,” Bashir replied. “You may be inside my head, but you don't know me half as well as you think you do. Take Garak. I do still have feelings for him, but our friendship is more important to me than a failed romance. As far as my career is concerned, I may have been a good tennis player, but I'm a great doctor. Maybe marrying Palis and delaying Starfleet was a mistake in the long run, but I loved her at the time, and I met Ben and Dax because of it. I wouldn't trade that for the world. This is where I belong. Computer, activate quarantine field 3J.” A field appeared around the Lethean.

“You can't do this,” the Lethean protested. Bashir smirked.

“I can do anything I want. It is my mind. Begin sterilization.” The Lethean disappeared and the next thing Bashir knew, he was blinking up at the infirmary ceiling and Jadzia and Sisko's relieved faces.

–

The next day Bashir and Garak had lunch in the Replimat, while Bashir described the experience.

“As for the real Altovar, he tripped a security alert when he broke into the Infirmary. He barely got two meters before Odo arrested him,” Bashir concluded with a shrug. “He wasn't nearly as threatening as in my mind.”

“I read that Lethean attacks are almost always fatal,” Garak said, deliberately not mentioning that he had read this while Bashir had lain unconscious on a biobed, fighting for his life. Garak smiled, pushing away the memory of his panic. The doctor was alive and well. “You should be congratulated.”

“I suppose I was lucky,” Bashir dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“Doctor, on Cardassia, we don't believe in luck,” he said seriously, too seriously he realized as soon as he'd said it. It was a clear compliment wrapped up in a bit of contrarianism which made it the epitome of Cardassian flirting. Garak pressed on, hoping the doctor hadn't noticed how blatant he'd been. “But you cast me as the villain. Interesting choice.”

Bashir immediately tried to respond, likely to reassure Garak that it wasn't a reflection on his character or some such. Garak didn't let Bashir get that far.

“I can't say I blame you, Doctor.” It was another apology. He had put the doctor through so much, toyed with him so cruelly. It was only natural that his unconscious mind would view Garak in a sinister light.

Bashir recognized the veiled apology for what it was. A bit of warmth spread through his chest as he smiled too broadly and started to lean in, before catching himself. He'd almost let himself give in to his affection for Garak again. Bashir reigned in his smile. He couldn't afford to indulge those feelings, not with how Garak had treated him. Bashir silently hoped that Garak hadn't noticed his brief slip up.

Of course, Garak had.

 


	13. Improbable Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 3x20 - Improbable Cause

Garak approached this lunch knowing that it would almost certainly be the last he would ever share with the doctor. Bashir didn't know, of course. He couldn't know. Garak had almost hoped for a final stimulating debate, but that wouldn't happen. Garak had to keep up the appearance of normality after all.

Doctor Bashir seemed to have little interest in talking and far more interest in wolfing down his meal as quickly as possible, so Garak rambled. He rambled about his shop and his customers and the latest fashion trends. A neutral enough topic, though considering all that had happened between them in that shop, including Bashir delivering his ultimatum, there was a shared intimacy in how both of them knew the shop held more meaning for them than would be obvious to a casual observer.

Garak couldn't wait to watch that physical representation of his sentimentality burn. Tain would be proud.

“You're going to give yourself indigestion,” Garak commented. Bashir paused, fork hovering halfway between the plate and his mouth.

“You were late,” Bashir countered, before returning to his meal. Garak sighed. He'd been late because he'd been frantically putting together an explosive for his shop. Of course, Bashir had no way of knowing that. Just like he had no way of knowing that this would be their last meal together.

“This isn't the first time I've seen you rush through a meal. You never take the time to savor your food,” Garak admonished. This was getting too close to flirtation. Garak glanced around looking for a way to broaden the topic, take the focus off of the two of them. “Look over there.” He gestured subtly. “That Talarian isn't even half finished with his meal, but his human companion's plate is empty.”

Bashir glanced over and chuckled. “Maybe he and I should get together for dessert and leave you and the Talarian to wile away the afternoon.” Garak smiled and turned back to his plate.

“If you want to have dessert, go ahead. I won't be offended.” Bashir looked at Garak sheepishly.

“Actually, I have to go. I'm sorry to leave while you're still eating.” Bashir stood.

“No, no...” Garak dismissed, standing. “I'm done as well.” Anticipation had dulled his appetite. Bashir gave him a curious look as they exited Quark's onto the upper level of the Promenade.

“But you're only half finished,” he said, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. Garak smirked at Bashir.

“If you really must know, I've been nibbling on Delavian chocolates all morning.” That would give the doctor something else to think about.

“How did you get your hands on Delavian chocolates?” Bashir asked, intrigued. The diversion had worked. Garak let a sly smile grow on his face.

“I promised my...supplier that I wouldn't tell,” he said lightly. Bashir rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face. Garak felt his fondness for the doctor keenly in that moment.

“But since I deprived you of dessert, I'd be happy to bring some by the infirmary later this afternoon,” Garak continued quickly. His smile slipped for only a fraction of a second when he realized what he'd said. That offer was an open and unambiguous sign of affection. Beyond that he had no ulterior motivation for it. There was no point for Garak to try to keep the doctor interested in him since he would probably never see the man again. Then a warm smile appeared on Bashir's face, one Garak hadn't seen in so very long, and for a moment Garak's concern washed away.

“I'd like that,” Bashir said simply, honestly.

“Until then, Doctor,” Garak said, forcing himself to leave. Bashir kept smiling as Garak walked away.

_Garak still has feelings for me,_ Bashir thought to himself.  _He hides it well, but then he'll take my hand or allude to denying what he wants or offer me chocolates._ Bashir didn't plan to do anything with this information, but now he knew for sure that their relationship failing hadn't been his fault. It was a problem with Garak, there was something holding him back. Bashir sighed. That did mean it was unlikely they would get back together unless the situation changed dramatically, but just knowing it wasn't a personal rejection of him was reassuring.

Bashir turned to head into the infirmary when he heard his name.

“Julian,” Kira called out.

“Kira,” he greeted, smiling.

“About those atmospheric specifications you requested for the Yalosian Ambassador...” she started, sounding tired already.

“Sixty percent nitrogen, ten percent benzene, and the rest hydrogen fluoride, as I recall.” Kira gave him a frustrated look.

“We ran a test in one of the guest quarters; the mixture was so corrosive it started to dissolve the carpet.” Bashir shrugged his shoulders.

“Don't look at me, it's what they breathe.”  
“I guess we'll just have to pull the carpet out,” she muttered.

“Just don't replace it with anything red or orange,” Bashir commented brightly. “They can't see that part of the color spectrum.” Kira took a moment to observe the doctor, giving him a long look.

“Anything else I should know?” she asked, a hint of a suspicious tone in her voice.

“Major, we must accommodate our foreign friends,” Bashir deflected quickly. Kira raised her eyebrows.

“Even if they seem absolutely impossible to deal with?”

“They'll only be here for a few weeks-”

“You know who I'm referring to,” Kira said, cutting him off. She was not in the mood for obfuscation or avoidance. Bashir suppressed a sigh.

“He's a good man...just complicated.” Bashir smiled sheepishly, embarrassed at having been caught out. Kira's expression turned thoughtful.

“Do you...still have feelings for him?” she asked quietly.

Bashir was spared having to answer by a violent explosion. He and Kira glanced at each other briefly before rushing to the railing to get a better look. Bashir called the infirmary and alerted them while he and Kira hurried down the stairs and towards the blast site. As they drew closer, Bashir was filled with a gnawing sense of dread until the blast site came into view and his heart sank.

“Garak's shop,” Bashir gasped.

He ran forward as if in a trance. He crossed through the hole where the doors used to be and quickly looked around, spotting Garak lying on the ground, moving onto his side. In an instant, Bashir was next to him, gently helping him sit up.

“Are you alright?” he asked, some of the leftover panic from earlier making his voice waver. Thankfully, his mind was able to keep working professionally, and he appraised Garak's condition. Other than a few minor cuts and some soot, Garak appeared to be fine. Bashir let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“As well as could be expected,” Garak replied, an unusually soft smile on his face.

Bashir carefully helped Garak to his feet and led him to the infirmary. He was in the middle of healing Garak's wounds when Sisko and Odo arrived with questions, including if Garak had any idea who would want to kill him. Garak pretended to give the matter careful consideration before listing off a few people.

“Well, let me see. I mean, there's the Nausicaan whose wedding suit I misplaced, and that Yridian I owe money to. And, of course, there's always Doctor Bashir.” Bashir stopped his work and pulled the dermal regenerator away.

He fixed Garak with a stern look and said, “This is serious, Garak.” Garak gave him a, patently false, sincere look.

“I'm being serious,” he returned in a light tone. “You have a very strong motive.” Bashir rolled his eyes and suppressed a smile.

“You think I would set a bomb in your shop for being late to lunch?” Bashir asked with false indignation. A wry smile grew on Garak's face.

“A purposefully failed bomb, so that you could kill me at your leisure in the infirmary.” Bashir chuckled, grinning, but stopped and turned back to his work as soon as he noticed Sisko's glare.

“I don't like explosions going off on my station, Garak,” Sisko said, a controlled fury in his tone. “Innocent people could've been hurt. You could've been killed. Now if there's anything you know you're not telling us, I suggest you start talking.”

“I've told you everything I can think of,” Garak insisted. Odo made his opinion on that very clear. Sisko, clearly tired of Garak's obfuscation, explained that a security detail had been assigned to the Cardassian. Convinced that they'd get nothing more out of Garak, the two left.

Bashir finished his work and stepped back. Garak thanked him and forced himself to leave the doctor's presence before he did something foolish.

–

It wasn't long before Odo began investigating a Flaxian who had recently arrived on the station. As much as Garak wanted to join in tailing the Flaxian assassin, he had no idea how long that would take and there was a ship he'd need to catch soon if he was going to answer Tain's call. He'd actually been in the middle of packing when he was called to the wardroom.

Sisko explained that the Flaxian's ship had exploded and they suspected Romulan involvement. Sisko stared intently at Garak and asked, “Do you know why the Romulans might hire someone to kill you?” Garak blinked.

“I have no idea,” he said honestly. He had a few possible suspicions, but they were vague, general, and entirely unlikely. Sisko was not satisfied with this answer, but Odo believed him, so they saved their questions for the Romulans and let the plain, simple tailor leave.

–

Garak only had one day of peace before Odo called him into the security office and handed him a list of names with the simple question of “Why would the Romulans kill these five people?” Garak read through the list, his eyes steadily widening.

“They're all dead?” he asked, genuinely surprised. Odo gave him an appraising look.

“So you did know them?” Garak considered the question.

“Constable, just because I'm surprised that five people are dead-” Odo cut him off by spinning Garak's chair around and leaning in close.

“I've had enough of your dissembling, Garak,” the constable said firmly. “I'm not Doctor Bashir and we're not sparring amiably over lunch. You pulled me into this investigation and now you're going to cooperate.”

“Pulled you in, I don't know what you're-” Garak protested quickly.

“You blew up your own shop, Garak.”

Garak froze. He hadn't expected Odo to see through him. Odo, for his part, seemed genuinely pleased that he'd been able to throw Garak off. In fact, the constable said as much, and then he explained that the Flaxian assassin had been planning to poison Garak. Garak tried to deflect but Odo had latched onto the truth of the matter and would not be dissuaded.

“I think you secretly enjoyed destroying your shop,” Odo accused.

Garak looked at the constable, considering. His mind drifted through everything that had happened in that shop, meeting Bashir, stolen kisses in a changing room because Bashir couldn't wait until the end of the day, hearing Bashir was dead, that moment of emotional turmoil in the backroom, Bashir's lonely plea to reenter his life, and, of course, Bashir's ultimatum when Garak wouldn't let him go. Yes, the memories that store held were so confused and tainted and mixed and painful that it had been almost therapeutic to plot its explosive end. A small smile appeared faintly on Garak's lips.

“I will admit that watching it burn wasn't exactly...tragic,” he replied. Odo glared at him. The constable wanted answers and he was tired of playing Garak's game. Garak considered how best to respond. His eyes reexamined the room around him as his expression darkened.

“We all did jobs for the same man at one point,” he said vaguely. The list didn't make any sense. The five dead Cardassians were all former agents of the Obsidian Order while he himself was still very much an active one. Odo leaned in, attempting to intimidate.

“His name?” Garak smirked, his eyes hard. There was no hint of the plain, simple tailor in his expression.

“Enabran Tain,” Garak whispered, the words barely audible. Odo's expression flickered briefly, but he remained silent. Garak continued at a normal volume. “He retired from his post a few years ago. All of us provided him one service or another.”

“Do you have any idea why the Romulans would want you all dead?”

“I don't know...but he might,” Garak answered slowly.

“Unless he suffered an unfortunate 'accident' as well.”

At that unpleasant thought, Garak realized that, despite it going against all his training, he needed to contact Tain. Odo stepped aside, admiring the method Garak used to scramble the signal. Mila answered, her face showing confusion and concern. She recognized how unusual and desperate the situation must be if he was calling directly.

“Mila,” he greeted.

“Elim?” It was more of a question than a greeting. She wanted an explanation.

“I need to speak with Tain. It's urgent.” Mila's eyes widened as she took in a breath.

“You can't. He's not here.” Garak bit back a nervous hiss that threatened to escape.

“Where is he?”

“I don't know,” Mila replied, her worry obviously rising. “He left yesterday in a great hurry. He wouldn't tell me where.”

Odo murmured, “Maybe he realized someone was coming after him.” Garak steadied himself.

“He's in trouble, isn't he? Elim?”

_There are very few people Tain's housekeeper would get worked up about,_ Garak found himself thinking,  _if I am lucky, I am one of those few._

“If you speak with him, tell him to contact me. I'll do what I can, Mila,” he tried to reassure her, but even if the constable hadn't been present, he couldn't have told her what he suspected: that Tain had some larger scheme he was preparing to enact. After all, Tain _had_ sent a communication telling Garak to prepare to leave the station and providing a location for them to meet. For all that Garak was still an agent of the Obsidian Order, his first loyalty was to Tain, to the man that had molded him from his youth.

Garak ended the transmission and turned to Odo.

“I'll need a runabout, Constable.” Odo examined him.

“ _We'll_ need a runabout. I'm coming with you.”

–

Bashir had found Garak on his way to the docking bay. Garak hadn't informed the doctor that he was leaving, but he suspected that Odo had told Kira who had seen fit to pass the information on to Bashir. Still, Garak was glad for Bashir's company, if only because it meant he'd get to see the man one last time before he left the station forever, to go on whatever mission Tain had planned for him.

“I hope you know what you're doing, Garak,” Bashir said softly.

“So do I,” Garak replied sincerely.

“Is there anything you need me to do while you're gone?” Bashir offered.

“Like what?” Bashir shrugged.

“I don't know. Any unfinished business, or...” he trailed off. Garak let his gaze drift down to the doctor's lips. He could take one final kiss before he left, secure in the knowledge that he'd never see the doctor again. But, no, that would raise too many questions in the doctor's mind. Garak lifted his gaze back to Bashir's eyes, just in time to catch Bashir's gaze making a similar journey. Clearly their thoughts had run in similar directions. Garak deliberately turned to look at the door to the airlock.

“No, Doctor, there's nothing you can do for me while I'm away.” Bashir hummed a response, drawing Garak's attention as Bashir pulled something from behind his back.

“These are for you,” Bashir said, almost shyly, holding out a bar of Delavian chocolates. Garak blinked in recognition.

“But these were meant for you,” he protested lightly. He'd left those chocolates on Bashir's desk in the infirmary, his last gift to his former lover.

“I know,” Bashir replied, smiling sheepishly. “I thought you might need them more than I do.” Garak slowly reached out and accepted the chocolates.

“Thank you,” he murmured, allowing himself a small smile. Bashir blushed, his own smile brightening. They stayed there for a moment, staring at each other, both afraid of shattering the moment. Then Bashir pulled Garak into a warm embrace.

“Good luck,” he whispered into Garak's ear before he gently pulled back. There was a hint of sadness in Bashir's eyes, despite the warm smile. It seemed the doctor had sensed that this would be their last meeting.

Garak nodded, smiled, and then determinedly stepped into the airlock.

–

Garak had Odo lay in a course for the location Tain had given Garak. It had been part of the message that Tain had sent, written in a code that only the two of them knew. And so they were on their way to the Unefra System, of course, Garak simply told Odo that Tain had a safe-house there, he said nothing about the encoded message he'd received.

Odo was watching him, considering what questions would get the most information out of him perhaps. He'd managed to avoid telling the constable much beyond the bare minimum. He hadn't even explained why he would contact Tain or go after the man. Finally, Odo chose his plan of attack.

“You did an excellent job convincing that Mila woman that you had any intention of bringing Tain back alive.” Garak resisted the urge to chuckle, settling for a curious smile.

“What reason would _I_ have to wish Tain ill?” he asked. Odo's eyes narrowed, focusing his glare.

“The man tried to have you killed,” Odo suggested. Garak's expression grew hard. On the face of it that explanation seemed possible, but it didn't make any sense. He hadn't done anything worthy of Tain's ire.

“I find that hard to believe,” he answered, a bit sharper than he'd have preferred.

“Oh?” Odo raised an eyebrow. “Still the loyal agent?” Garak smiled disarmingly, falling back into his innocent shopkeeper persona.

“Not at all. I simply doubt the Obsidian Order is interested in the affairs of a simple tailor.”

“I doubt it as well, but I believe the Order would be interested in the affairs of a compromised agent.” Odo leaned in, his mouth quirked upward in a faint approximation of a triumphant smile.

“Compromised?” Garak repeated, bristling. It wasn't that Odo had wounded his pride with the accusation, Garak had no ego to hurt after all, but the constable had questioned his loyalty, both to Cardassia and to Tain.

Odo responded to his reaction with bemusement.

“Unless _pining_ after the Federation doctor is a new tactic.” Odo smirked. “ _I'd_ certainly consider you a security risk.”

“I am _not_ pining _,_ ” Garak protested. As uncomfortable as this conversation was quickly getting, Garak was willing to put up with a little personal discomfort if it kept Odo from questioning him about Tain.

“Ha. That brings me back to Tain,” the constable replied, refusing to allow the conversation to get off-track. “ You seem very convinced that he wasn't trying to kill you, even though it's the simplest explanation.”

Garak held back his protests. Odo noted his silence and continued, “Given that, it makes sense to take your promise to Mila as genuine. Which means that you are obligated to Tain in some way.”

“A logical deduction. I see why you're the constable,” Garak answered.

“But it's more than that. He means something to you...” Odo deliberately raised an eyebrow. “Something personal?” Garak glanced at Odo.

“Ah, now you've moved from deduction to supposition.”

“You're not the kind of man who would go to such lengths simply to repay a debt,” Odo explained. “No, you wouldn't be doing this for just anyone. It would have to be someone important to you, someone you cared about. Someone you cared about enough to end your relationship with Doctor Bashir, in spite of, or possibly _because_ of how fond you still are of the doctor. Perhaps you were Tain's protege and he was your mentor.” Odo was watching carefully, observing every unconscious change on Garak's face. “Or is all that just supposition?”

Garak stared back at Odo, trying very hard not to reveal exactly how close the constable had come to the truth. He decided to go on the attack.

“A very interesting analysis. Very interesting. Particularly coming from you,” Garak said coolly.

“Oh?” Odo prompted.

“It's been my observation that you always act from a sense of justice, or at least what you consider justice. There's no feeling behind what you do, no emotion beyond a certain distaste for loose ends and disorder. You don't know what it means to care about someone, do you? People are just interesting creatures to be studied and analyzed.” Garak's voice dripped with fake sympathy.

“Is there any point to this?”

“Only that I find it interesting that you ascribe feelings and motivations to me that you know nothing about. Or am I wrong? Tell me, is there one person in this universe you do care for? One person who's more than just an interesting puzzle to be solved. Is there, Odo? Anyone?” Odo met his gaze coolly, his expression undisturbed.

“If there were, I certainly wouldn't tell you.” After another moment of silence, Garak smiled.

“And that would be a wise decision,” he answered.

They fell silent. They had sized each other up and made an unspoken truce.

–

They didn't speak again until an alarm started blaring, alerting them to a Romulan warbird decloaking. Before they could react they were locked into a tractor beam and a pair of armed Romulans had beamed in.

They were taken aboard the warbird and marched to the ship's ready room. The door slid open and Garak found himself relieved to see Enabran Tain sitting behind a desk, smiling confidently.

_Tain's been aligned with the Romulans this whole time. This is why he called me from the station._

“Tain, sir,” Garak greeted, bowing his head. Odo reacted next to him, but Garak paid him no mind. He was once again a loyal agent, awaiting new orders.

“Hello, Garak,” Tain said amiably. “I wondered if you would make it. We almost left without you.” Garak looked up.

“The assassination attempt did cause some delays,” he explained lightly. Tain's expression flickered for less than a moment.

“Yes, that,” he said waving his hand dismissively. “A Tal Shiar operative striking out in a misguided attempt at vengeance. She has been taken care of.” Garak forced himself not to frown as his concern was ignored. Tain turned his attention away from Garak, taking a moment to examine his companion. “I must say, Garak. Constable Odo is not who I'd expected to accompany you.” Garak gave a gracious smile.

“Well, you said you wanted someone with information on the Founders. It seemed appropriate that I simply give you a Changeling.” He gestured as if to present the constable. Odo stiffened beside him. Garak could feel the harsh glare Odo was sending his way. Garak could feel the anger and sense of betrayal as if it was radiating off of the constable.

“I should have known,” Odo growled bitterly.

“I see,” Tain said, smiling in a way that always managed to set Garak on edge. His face remained a calm mask while his mind tried to gauge Tain's reaction.

_Did he expect Doctor Bashir?_ The thought sprang unbidden to the front of Garak's mind. Bashir had been on the ill-fated mission where Starfleet encountered the Founders, but Odo was a much more valuable choice. Garak had already concluded that Bashir hadn't paid much attention to the Founders, being too distracted by the simulation of Garak's death to note much of anything, but it was possible the doctor had held something back from his former lover and his official report that could be drawn out through torture. That was the major flaw with bringing Odo. As a Changeling he was impervious to most forms of torture, certainly all physical ones.

Bashir on the other hand would likely be very susceptible. He would have received some training on handling torture at the Academy, but that was so many years ago he likely wouldn't remember much of it. His medical knowledge would allow him to register exactly how much damage had been done to his body once the pain cleared and allowed him to think. His skin marked so easily it would turn a motley of different colors as bruises of various severity and ages marred it. His expressive face would show every emotion: pain, fear, desperation, anger, and eventually resignation. No, Garak could not have brought Bashir.

“This ship is part of a fleet of Romulan and Cardassian vessels,” Tain announced, abruptly changing the subject. “A fleet that will very soon be traveling through the wormhole into the Gamma Quadrant.” Garak stood by, listening attentively while Odo asked questions to draw Tain's plan out of him.

“Why did you find it necessary to kill those other agents?” Odo eventually asked, clearly unwilling to leave any loose ends. Garak found his interest piqued as well. It was unusual for Tain to have agents killed so long after they'd made their mistake and betrayed the Order.

“Because I don't plan on going back into retirement when this is over. I plan on going back to my old job and my old life,” Tain answered.

“And they knew things that could be used against you,” Odo murmured. They fell silent for a moment, giving Garak an opportunity to speak.

“Tain, forgive me for asking, but what exactly is my role to be here?” Tain smiled, amused.

“You haven't figured it out yet, Garak? You are to serve once again by my side, as my right hand,” he replied. Garak smiled slyly back.

“I'm to be the Son of Tain once again?”

“Exactly,” Tain answered, holding out his hand. Garak reached out and shook it.

“I'm at your service.”

 


	14. The Die Is Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3x21 - The Die Is Cast

Bashir sat alone at the bar in Quark's. It was the day after Garak and Odo had left, and Bashir had the feeling that Garak had no intention of returning to the station. Bashir left out a soft sigh as he picked at his plate.

Kira's brand of comfort was muttered threats of violence towards Garak, Sisko had started to get weary of Bashir moping but not taking any action after a few months, and O'Brien had no interest in hearing about the mess that was Bashir's love life. The only person he could really talk to about this was Jadzia, and she was busy.

He could have just eaten in his office, resigning himself to a working lunch, but he'd thought the break and change of scenery would help his mood. He'd immediately discounted the Replimat. He disliked eating there alone on the best of days, and this certainly was not one of those.

“Excuse me...Doctor Bashir?” Bashir turned towards the voice to see one of the dabo girls, Leeta. She'd only started working a few weeks ago, but she was quite friendly. Jadzia had grown quite fond of her already.

“Yes, can I help you?” he replied, forcing a polite smile on his face.

“You're still pining after Garak,” she said bluntly. Bashir winced at how plainly she put it, but nodded. It wasn't like he'd been that subtle about his feelings. She continued, “I see you two in here and at the Replimat a lot. I wanted to say, I know how it feels...to be interested in someone who refuses to give you a clear signal. It can feel impossible to deal with.” She glanced down, taking a moment to rally her strength. When she met Bashir's gaze again, her eyes were full of determination. “I don't like accepting the impossible.” She leaned against the bar, bringing her body close enough to make a suggestion, but still remaining far enough away that it didn't feel like an invasion of the doctor's personal space. Bashir considered her for a moment.

“What exactly are you proposing?” he asked, curious.

“I'm saying that instead of leaving ourselves available for them to take no action, maybe we should show them that we won't wait around forever. They need to make a move or we _will_ move on.” 

Bashir leaned closer, dropping his voice so as not to be overheard, “Are you suggesting we pretend to be in a relationship as some kind of jealousy ploy?” Leeta glanced away, embarrassed.

“Well, yes,” she replied, sheepishly. Bashir sighed, leaning back.

“It won't work,” he said, resigned. “Not for me. Garak...” He let the sentence fade. Garak was complicated. Bashir had made his feelings more than clear, and Garak had chosen to pull back instead of act. There was something else holding him back, something beyond the two of them. Besides, there had been an air of finality around their last few meetings that made Bashir suspect Garak was planning to leave the station for good very soon.

“At least it will get people to stop assuming you're still in love with him,” Leeta countered. Bashir wanted to question how she was so sure that people were still making that assumption, but even though he'd been doing his best to put forth a cheerful front, his friends could certainly see through his facade. And even though most of him wanted to make whatever he had with Garak work, there was part of him that wanted to move on. Jadzia had suggested that he try putting himself back out there, even if it was only to remind himself that he did have options, but Bashir was unwilling to pursue other options if his heart wasn't in it. This proposal of Leeta's, however, offered to provide a situation where there would be no hurt feelings. Besides, even if it didn't help his situation that much, it might help hers.

“I'm in,” he answered, smiling warmly. “And please, call me Julian.”

–

Back on the warbird, Odo had been taken away, leaving Tain and Garak to go over what Garak had learned from his time on the station in more detail than coded messages could allow. After a while of this, Tain started to reminisce about some of Garak's work from before he'd been assigned to Deep Space 9. Garak mentally noted that Tain was growing somewhat sentimental in his old age, as Tain's right hand it would fall to him to keep that weakness hidden.

After a bit, a Romulan officer entered. Tain rose and made the introduction.

“Colonel Lovok, allow me to introduce my associate, Elim Garak.” Lovok gave him a calculating yet suspicious look.

“Can we trust him?” Lovok asked. “He has been living among the Federation for many years and could easily be working for them.”

“The Order does not have disloyal operatives,” Tain scoffed. “Unlike your Tal Shiar sister who hired a Flaxian to bomb Garak's shop in a crude assassination attempt.” Garak stepped forward, smiling.

“Actually, she hired the Flaxian to poison me. I blew up my own shop to draw the attention of the good constable,” Garak clarified. Tain laughed.

“You are a true original, my friend.”

Lovok acknowledged this by saying, “You will not enter the bridge or any other secured space aboard this ship unescorted. If you do so, you will be killed.”

With the pleasantries out of the way, Tain gave Garak his new assignment: convincing Odo to provide them with all the information he had on his people.

–

Garak went straight to the room where Odo was being held. He smiled in a welcoming fashion as he entered and said, “Well, Odo. I hope the accommodations meet with your approval? You are, after all, my guest.” Odo scoffed.

“There are forcefields around the bulkheads and a guard outside the door. Feels like a prison cell to me.” Garak tried to offer platitudes and reassurances but Odo wouldn't hear it.

“You're wasting your time, Garak. I don't care about the rationalizations you come up with to justify your actions. You don't need to make up excuses for me. I'm not Doctor Bashir.” Garak chuckled, a tired smile on his face.

“And now you invoke the good doctor's name, as if that should hold some sort of sway over me. I thought you were more observant than that, Odo,” he said teasingly. “There seems to be this notion on Deep Space 9 that I care very deeply about what Doctor Bashir thinks of me. I would have thought an intelligent man like yourself could piece together the obvious evidence.” Odo scoffed, bemused.

“What evidence? That once you'd heard he'd kissed another person while under the influence of a telepathic suggestion, you went running to mock him?” Odo smirked, feeling confident. “You were just hiding your pain.” Garak went to counter Odo's point, but the constable cut him off. “You should be careful. You don't want Tain to think you've grown fond of the doctor.”

Garak forced an amused smile and finally did what he'd been sent to do: he asked Odo about the Founders. Odo refused to offer any information. With nothing gained, Garak returned to Tain.

–

The senior officers had all been called to the wardroom. Admiral Toddman, on the viewscreen, had given them a briefing and then played a message from Enabran Tain, the former head of the Obsidian Order, who, along with the Tal Shiar was launching an attack to wipe out the Founders, and thus, the Dominion.

_I've seen him before_ , Bashir thought. He searched through his mind, trying to place where or when exactly he'd seen Tain. Then he realized.  _Garak's quarters!_ Tain had been there, or at least an illusion of him, during the incident with imagination coming to life. From what Bashir remembered of how Garak had acted while in the presence of the fantasy Tain, whom he'd described as his mentor, it was very likely that he would be at Tain's side.

A few other pieces started to arrange themselves in Bashir's mind. Garak's actions throughout the previous few days had had a sense finality to them, as if he knew he would be leaving the station and not returning, and now Tain was leading an attack that had clearly required a lot of planning. Assuming Garak was a spy, which Bashir felt was a safe assumption considering that he'd admitted the Cardassian spymaster was his mentor, there was a very high likelihood that he'd been recalled to join in this assault.

Sisko announced that volunteers for Odo's unauthorized rescue mission be aboard the Defiant at 1530 hours. Bashir knew he would be on that mission.

–

Garak reported the results of his questioning to Tain. He'd discovered nothing. That should have been the end of it, but then Tain presented a device that would neutralize Odo's shape-shifting abilities and suggested that maybe the Tal Shiar should take over the interrogation.

“No,” Garak replied, trying to sound firm and cold.

“It's all right, Garak. It's my fault. I should've known you'd develop feelings for these people you've been living with for the past few years. Your dalliance with the doctor has not gone unnoticed.” A chill ran down Garak's spine.

“This has _nothing_ to do with my _feelings_ ,” he protested. “I brought Odo here. He's my prisoner and my responsibility.” Tain smiled, pleased.

“Alright. I look forward to hearing your results.”

Garak returned to Odo's cell. He turned on the device and prompted Odo with questions. The interrogation took hours, and by the time they finished Garak wasn't sure who wanted it to end more.

He hadn't anticipated it being this difficult. Interrogations had never been his preferred method of intelligence gathering, he preferred manipulating his targets rather than breaking them, but he had always had a talent for this. Before he was sent to Deep Space 9, he had broken Doctor Parmak just by staring at him. Now, however, he had barely managed to break Odo and he had very nearly broken down himself.

Ignoring a knot of guilt and unease in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in years, Garak made his report to Tain. He lied to Tain. He claimed that Odo never broke. The fact that Odo secretly wanted to return to the Founders wasn't useful to Tain, Garak reassured himself. It didn't matter that he kept it to himself.

Tain wanted to kill Odo. Garak protested. He gave reasons to keep Odo alive that he only half-believed in, but they, and Lovok's insistence as well, achieved the goal of convincing Tain to keep Odo alive.

They arrived at the planet only to discover it was a trap as the Jem'Hadar began their attack. Garak took advantage of the chaos to release Odo, not sure if he was acting out of guilt or a strange sense of friendship. With Odo released, Garak ran back to get Tain. Despite the growing doubts in his mind, his first loyalty was still to Tain. This was his duty. Tain refused to go and Garak couldn't leave him. Then everything went dark.

Garak woke up on the runabout with Odo frantically trying to keep them from being destroyed. His eyes quickly scanned across the displays, taking in the information. They were still going to die.

“Odo, I hope that you will accept my sincere apologies for all this,” Garak found himself saying. Odo offered a sardonic retort, but accepted the apology nonetheless.

Then he was standing in the transporter room of the Defiant. Doctor Bashir was rushing over, quickly examining a bruise that Garak only distantly felt. He let the concerned doctor lead him to the infirmary. Bashir mentioned that they were on their way back to the station as he directed Garak onto a biobed.

It was only then that the full reality of his situation sank in. Tain was or would soon be dead. The Obsidian Order, if it survived at all, would be in shambles. Yes, Garak was still alive, but his minor reprieve would only last until Odo reported what had happened, then the Federation would imprison Garak for his crimes while trying to cajole state secrets from him. Or rather, they would try to and he would either escape or die by his own hand. The doctor's voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Garak? Can you hear me?” Bashir asked insistently, laying aside his medical instruments and turning his attention entirely to his patient. Garak let out an unnatural laugh. He saw Bashir flinch at the sound, but the reaction didn't register in Garak's mind.

“My entire life, everything I've ever worked for. It's all gone,” he heard himself say. The corners of Bashir's mouth pulled down, though not enough for his professional mask to fall and an actual frown to appear.

“Try to rest,” he prescribed. Bashir dimmed the lights as he walked out.

–

Garak fled to his quarters as soon as they docked. He had to pack. He had to plan. He had to escape. He could make his way to one of his or Tain's safe houses and hide there. As soon as he entered his quarters, however, the situation changed. A light on his console was blinking, signaling an urgent message. Garak opened it, curious.

It was an official notice from the Cardassian government. He barely processed the details of the letter, but its main message sank in quickly. Elim Garak was banished from Cardassian space for crimes against the Cardassian government. The crimes cited weren't any of his more serious transgressions like his murder of Gul Toran, which couldn't be proven, or his involvement in the rescue of Major Kira from Entek's plot, which he doubted Entek would have revealed to anyone outside of the Obsidian Order, or even any of the many other crimes he'd committed as an operative. Instead, he'd been exiled for tax evasion of all things.

Of course, the true reason for Garak's exile was that he'd lost the protection of Enabran Tain and the Obsidian Order while having enemies who were in a position to take advantage of his vulnerability. The only reason he hadn't been dragged back to Cardassia for execution was either a lack of proof or the hope that the Federation would execute him instead.

_I should have died with Tain,_ Garak thought, collapsing to the floor. He forced himself back up.  _If I'm going to wallow in self-pity, I should at least do it properly._ He dragged himself out of his quarters and headed to the Promenade, to Quark's, but he stopped his approach when he spotted Bashir heading in the same direction.

Garak didn't have the inclination to analyze his feelings toward the doctor now, nor the energy to consider how his new situation could perhaps allow doors that he had previously closed to be reopened.  _Tain can't disapprove now that he's dead,_ his mind slyly suggested. Garak pushed the thought aside and hid himself in a dark corner, letting the doctor pass him by. Garak's eyes still trailed after him though, observing.

He watched Bashir head to Quark's, only to be greeted at the door by one of the newer dabo girls. He leaned down slightly, making it easier for her to reach up and kiss his cheek. Garak's hand involuntarily curled into a fist. Bashir smiled warmly at the girl and pulled her into an embrace. Garak was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the context of the conversation was clear from their expressions. The dabo girl grinned as she pulled back. Bashir took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a kiss across her knuckles. She laughed and pulled the smiling doctor into the bar.

Garak suppressed a jealous hiss and forced himself to wander away from the bar. He absently made his way to the space that had once been his shop, still in ruins from the explosion he'd set off only a few short days ago. He picked his way through the rubble, looking around for objects he could salvage out of instinct rather than purpose. He heard the constable's approach, but he didn't turn around until Odo made a noise to announce his presence.

“I've just finished my report to Commander Sisko,” Odo said. Garak smiled ruefully.

“Ah,” he replied.

“Quark has expressed an interest in renting this space if you're not going to be using it,” Odo announced. “He mentioned something about an Argelian massage facility.” Garak almost chuckled.

“I don't know how Commander Sisko would feel about such an _interesting_ facility on the Promenade.”

“Quite,” Odo said, smiling wryly, “though when we discussed it, he did seem happy with the idea of a tailor's shop.” Garak's gaze fell to the singed floor.

“I'm sure he'll find a new tailor he approves of,” he muttered, the words coming out more bitter than he'd intended.

“Why would we get a new one?” Odo asked. Garak's eyes flew back to the constable's face, searching for any hint of a lie.

“I'm not going to be charged?” he asked incredulously. He'd been half expecting this conversation to end with Odo throwing him in a cell, and yet now he'd been granted a reprieve. He wanted to know why.

“You're a very good tailor,” Odo answered, deflecting. Garak examined his face, trying to find an explanation. After it became clear that Garak wasn't going to say anything, Odo spoke again. “Garak, I was thinking that you and I should have breakfast together sometime.” Garak stared questioningly at him.

“Why, Constable, I thought you didn't eat.”

“I don't,” Odo answered simply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving into some of the bigger changes now. I hope you're as excited to read them as we are to post them!


	15. Explorers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3x22 - Explorers  
> 2x22 - The Wire

For most of the station, life continued as it always had. Repair crews were already at work clearing away the last of the wreckage so they could start rebuilding Garak's shop. The shop owner in question had secluded himself in his quarters, even missing his usual lunch with Doctor Bashir.

It had been almost a week before Garak finally ventured out to take Odo up on his offer of breakfast. They met at the Replimat and began by lightly discussing some recent station gossip. Then Odo said, “Doctor Bashir has been very concerned about you.”

Garak was well aware of this as the doctor had tried to check in on him many times, both in-person and by com. He'd promised any medical help Garak needed, suggested that he speak to a counselor or make use of a holo-counselor if an actual person wouldn't work, and he'd offered a friendly ear if Garak needed to discuss anything. Garak had sent Bashir away each time.

Garak fell back on what came naturally to him: digging for information.

“I truly don't know where he finds the time to worry. I thought he'd be too preoccupied with his new paramour, that dabo girl,” Garak said, a touch harsher than he'd meant to.

“Leeta,” Odo supplied, though he gave Garak a quizzical look as he did so. “She's very clever. Apparently she has a passion for sociology.” There was something in Odo's tone that made it seem like he was trying to imply something. Garak ignored that and suppressed a sigh.

“Brilliant and beautiful? How nice for the doctor.” Garak forced a smile, but it came out bitter. Ever since Odo had informed him that he wouldn't be facing any charges and was welcome to stay on Deep Space 9, Garak had been toying with the idea of getting back together with Doctor Bashir. That was his one high point among his many low points. There was nothing external standing between them now that Garak didn't have Tain, the Order, or Cardassia to return to. He'd hoped that this dabo girl would turn out to be a passing dalliance or a silly fling, but it was looking more and more serious by the moment.

“ _She_ approached the doctor. They had one conversation and then they started dating,” Odo said, a hint of what sounded like suspicion in his tone. Garak dismissed that thought. Odo was suspicious of everything.

“So he found someone who doesn't play games with him. A lovely young thing who simply told him what she wanted,” Garak retorted, trying to sound far less bitter than he felt. “I'm sure he was easily won over by that.” Odo sighed, clearly his implications weren't getting through.

“I doubt it's as serious as you seem to think it is,” Odo stated bluntly.

“Thank you, Constable, but the doctor's interests are clear,” Garak said resignedly. He offered Odo a pained smile and left to take care of his breakfast dishes, ending the conversation.

–

The headaches started that afternoon. They were short, but very sharp and painful. Garak's vision would blur and any light became unbearably bright. Then as quickly as the headache came, it would leave again. Garak did briefly consider taking Bashir up on his earlier offer of medical treatment. He knew the Federation doctor would do everything in his power to help. But by the third headache, Garak had determined the cause of his pain: the wire was failing. He'd left it on continuously for over a year now, he'd turned it on after Sisko had reported Bashir's death and never turned it off. In fact, he'd turned up the intensity several times over the past year.

Garak knew what would happen to him. The wire would fail, then his brain would fail, then his body would fail. He would die. A month ago that thought would have pained him, but now he had nothing left to live for. _Tain is gone. The Order is gone. Cardassia is as good as gone to me. And my dear Doctor Bashir...Julian...He is as good as gone too._

As the days passed, Garak's headaches grew worse and more frequent, until finally he decided to leave the darkness and relative warmth of his room and go to Quark's so he could self-medicate.

–

Bashir had been delighted to find out that the USS Lexington was set to dock at the station so its crew could take some shore leave because it meant he'd get to spend some time catching up with his classmate from Starfleet Medical: Elizabeth Lense. He needed a distraction from worrying about Garak, and chatting with Elizabeth was always enjoyable. He met her at the docking bay. They headed towards the Replimat, discussing their own research projects as they went, when Bashir spotted Garak walking towards them.

“Garak!” he exclaimed as the Cardassian drew closer. “It's good to see you.” Garak smiled, but there was something off about it.

“Doctor,” he greeted politely.

“Elizabeth, this is Garak, the station's resident tailor,” Bashir introduced. “Garak, this is Doctor Elizabeth Lense, we were in the same class at Starfleet Medical. She was valedictorian, and I was salutatorian.” Lense laughed.

“Julian, that better not be a segue into your finals story,” she protested. “I don't want to hear about postganglionic nerves ever again.” Bashir smirked.

“No, no. I was just laying the scene so that Garak would understand how ridiculous it is that you thought I was an Andorian for years.”

“It was only until our 5 year class reunion,” Lense argued lightly. The story was an old joke between the two of them.

“You were asking Palis about being married to an Andorian when she called me over!”

“And you ran off to hide by the hors d'oeuvres when I glanced at you!” The two doctors faced off silently for a moment and then they both burst into laughter at the shared memory. As their laughter died down, Bashir turned his attention back to Garak, whose face was unreadable as ever.

“We were heading to dinner. Please, join us!” Bashir invited eagerly. “We old folks need to pretend our academy stories are worthy of an audience, and you did miss our last lunch.” He gave Garak an entreating look. “Humor me!”

“Frankly, Doctor, I'm a little tired of humoring you,” he replied, his harsh undertone taking Bashir aback. Bashir started to stammer out a response when Garak winced, his hand cradling his head. Bashir was immediately at his side, steadying him.

“Garak?” Bashir asked softly as Garak showed signs of recovering from the attack. Garak pulled away from him.

“It's nothing that a little peace won't cure,” Garak insisted sharply. “Now, if you'll excuse me.” He nodded to both doctors and then walked quickly past them. Bashir watched him leave.

“I'm not an expert on Cardassian health, but...” Lense said, her tone saying that Bashir was welcome to disagree.

“No, skin was clammy, pupils were contracted,” Bashir muttered, absently listing symptoms. He glanced back at Lense apologetically. “I may have to cancel dinner.” Lense sighed.

“Julian, you can't just force him to receive medical treatment, even if you think it's in his best interest,” she reminded him. “He's not Starfleet.” Bashir let out a sigh of his own.

“You're right,” he replied resignedly. “Let's get dinner, shall we?”

The two continued to the Replimat and sat down with their meals. They absently talked as they ate. After he finished, Bashir pushed his plate aside and sighed.

“Damn that Cardassian evasiveness,” he muttered. Lense gestured with her fork, prompting him to go on. “Making me guess about his past is one thing, but when it comes to his health? I don't know. Why can't he just tell me what's going on?” Lense shrugged sympathetically. She had seen her fair share of tough patients.

“Maybe he doesn't like going to see the doctor...” she suggested. Bashir stared down at his plate. Lense might be right, but not in the way she thought. Bashir could easily see Garak avoiding medical treatment because he didn't want to see Bashir. He was about to explain his thinking to Lense when his combadge chirped.

“Quark to Bashir.” Bashir gave Lense an apologetic look before answering.

“This is Bashir,” he answered, slightly puzzled. Quark never called him. If there was a medical problem, he called the infirmary.

“Doctor, I need you in my bar right away. It's Garak.”

“On my way,” Bashir replied. He glanced back at Lense. “I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I have to go.” She gave him a fond smile.

“Don't worry about me, Julian. Go help your friend.” He thanked her before heading across the Promenade to Quark's.

–

Garak had clearly been busy in the hour or so since Bashir had last seen him. There was an empty kanar bottle on the bar near him and a second brand new one next to it. Bashir hurried over, deeply concerned.

“What's all this?” he asked Quark. Garak spotted him before Quark could answer.

“Doctor, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, an honest smile on his face, though the openness was tainted with an underlying hint of pain. “I apologize for my outburst earlier, but I promise I'll make it up to you. Please, join me.” Bashir smiled warmly at Garak, sitting on the empty seat next to him.

“I think I will.” He picked up the full bottle and made a bit of a show of glancing around. “It's a little noisy in here. I'd rather drink somewhere quiet.” He leaned in. Garak mirrored the movement.

“An excellent idea,” Garak replied. “We'll go to my quarters.” He stood a bit unsteadily, Bashir took his elbow and began to lead him out of the bar.

“Whatever you want,” he answered easily, trying to keep Garak docile. “But first, I must make a quick stop at the infirmary.” As if he'd flipped a switch, Garak suddenly pulled away, glaring fiercely.

“The infirmary?” he hissed. “Doctor, what kind of fool do you take me for? Now give me back my bottle!” Bashir hid the kanar bottle behind his back and suppressed a sigh of relief as Quark neatly took it from him.

“I will,” Bashir soothed, his hands reaching to steady Garak. “In the infirmary.” Garak snarled at him.

“I'm not going to the infirmary and I refuse to play this ridiculous game. Now give-” He cut himself off as he collapsed in pain. Bashir held him, slowly lowering them both to the floor.

“Make it stop, Julian. Make it stop,” Garak begged as Bashir cradled him. Bashir called for an emergency transport and they beamed to the infirmary.

–

Once in the infirmary, Bashir got to work. Garak had passed out from the pain, so Bashir directed his staff to lay Garak out on a bed and he started conducting scans. He was studying the results when Doctor Lense walked in.

“How is he?” she asked.

“I think I've found the problem,” Bashir said, frowning. He pulled up a scan showing an implant in Garak's brain. Lense gasped.

“That's wired into his entire central nervous system!” Bashir nodded solemnly.

“My first thought was that it was some kind of punishment device, but based on the amount of scarring in the surrounding tissue, this implant has been there for years. As far as I know, Garak's only been in pain for the last day, the last ten days at most.” Bashir let out a frustrated sigh. “It doesn't make sense.” Lense frowned.

“I can check the Lexington's records, see if they've ever encountered anything like this,” she offered. Bashir gave her a tired smile.

“You don't have to do that. You should get some rest. That's what you're here for.”

“You should follow your own advice, Julian,” Lense suggested firmly. He responded with a wry smile and a halfhearted promise. She left, knowing that was the best she'd get.

–

Bashir hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd moved to his office to work because it was easier having everything within his reach, and because every time he glanced over and saw Garak lying still on the biobed, his heart filled with dread. Then he'd felt a bit tired, so he'd laid his arms on the desk, forming a make-shift pillow and closed his eyes only for a moment.

As soon as he awoke he realized what had happened. He asked about Garak's status and the computer informed him that Garak had left at 0320 hours. Bashir hurried to Garak's quarters.

“Garak?” he called frantically, ringing the chime to the Cardassian's quarters. “Are you in there?” There was no response. Bashir used his medical override and burst through the door to see Garak injecting a hypospray. He snatched the hypo from Garak's hand, ignoring the other's false pleasantries.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he snapped, checking the hypo's contents. “Triptacederine. How much of this did you take?”

“A mere thirty cc's. Not nearly enough, I'm afraid.” There was that pained smile again, the one that revealed more than Garak would ever willingly show.

_Enough for what?_ The worried thought pushed itself to the front of Bashir's mind. He heard himself arguing with Garak, trying to get him to come back to the infirmary so he could treat him, so he could save him. Garak gave him a patronizing look.

“Doctor, I have no intention of putting myself on display for the amusement of the Bajoran inhabitants of this station.”

“It's not your pride I'm worried about. It's that implant you're carrying around inside your head.” Garak said nothing, so Bashir pressed onward. “Garak, I need to know what we're up against. If you tell me what it was meant for, maybe I could find some way to remove it.” Garak shook his head, a cynical smile on his face.

“It's hopeless, Doctor. Believe me, it can't be removed.”

“How do you know?” Bashir asked. Garak launched into an explanation of why he'd been given the device in the first place, how its purpose had been to make him immune to pain.

“What caused it to malfunction?”

“It was never meant for continuous use,” Garak muttered. Bashir frowned.

“Continuous use? What do you mean?”

“Living on this station is torture for me, Doctor. The temperature is always too cold, the lights always too bright. Every Bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt. So one day I decided I couldn't live with it anymore, and I took the pain away.”

“You activated the implant,” Bashir stated levelly.

“I created a device which allowed me to trigger the implant whenever I wanted. I turned it on and never shut it off.”

“How long has it been on?”

“One year.”

“And now the implant is breaking down.”

“That's correct,” Garak replied tightly.

“Then why not just shut the damn thing off?” Bashir asked with more passion than he meant.

“It's too late now,” Garak declared forcefully. “My body has become completely dependent on the higher endorphin levels generated by the implant.”

“So, that's it then,” Bashir replied in a blasé tone. “After everything we've been through.”

“And what, pray tell, have we _been through_?” Garak sneered. Bashir raised an eyebrow.

“Garak, you can't pretend I don't know you. No matter how much you may want to.”

“Oh, please, Doctor. You think that just because we were intimate for a few months, you know me? You couldn't even begin to fathom what I'm capable of.” Garak's disdainful look was fueled with pain. Bashir forced his expression to remain neutral, to not show any of the hurt that he felt.

“I'm a doctor. You're my patient. That's all I need to know,” he said, carefully keeping his voice steady.

“Wrong,” Garak said harshly. “You need to know who you're trying to save.” Garak produced another one of his famous lies. What was he supposed to do? Tell the doctor the truth? That he had allowed himself to fall for the doctor? Then Julian would save him out of some misguided love, or worse, _pity._ “What do you know of Odo's report?”

“You've been in exile since before I met you.” Bashir said carefully. “Tain offered you an opportunity to return home, if you interrogated Odo and joined him in his fight against the Dominion.” Garak laughed.

“Of course that sob story would illicit the sympathy of you Federation idealists!” Garak decided to begin by telling the truth. Surely that would keep Julian from saving him. “I was only exiled after Tain died. I blew up my own shop. I lured Odo to Tain and took joy in torturing him.” He raised his head as if he was proud of what he'd done, even though the memory of the interrogation sent chills down his spine.

“I see...” The doctor considered this information, his eyes looking downward and moving back and forth as though working on some equation. “But Odo still lied for you?” He raised his brown eyes to meet Garak's. “That's your sin against him, not me. It hardly changes a thing.”

“You don't understand!” Garak shouted, wanting to simply tell the doctor to let him die. But then he thought, _What if I confess a sin against the doctor? One he hasn't already heard._ “I used you for information. Our entire relationship was dictated by Tain. He ordered it.” Lying came so easily to Garak. “After I'd learned what I'd wanted, I tossed you aside.” He could see Julian clenching his jaw, trying to remain strong. It was time to twist the knife. “I had been planning to deliver you to Tain.”

“So why didn't you?” Bashir challenged, seeming to grow angry now.

“You had already told me everything you'd learned about the Founders so easily.” Garak licked his lips, mostly to try to return any moisture to his dry mouth. “You no longer had any use to me.” Garak forced a smirk. “So now you know, Doctor. I hope I haven't shattered too many of your illusions.” Bashir took a steadying breath, then squared his shoulders.

“Listen to me, Garak. Right now I'm not concerned with the past. I'm _not_ going to walk out of here and let you die,” Bashir said earnestly. “We need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms of side effects you may experience, I promise I'll help you through them.” Bashir's eyes were warm, his expression concerned. “I need to know where that triggering device is.” He paused. “Where is it?”

Garak was won over despite himself. He responded before he could second-guess his action, “The desk, second drawer.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing this, I thought I'd just write a few key vignettes and hopefully inspire more age swap art, now we're 15 chapters in and Ameera and I have plans through to the end of the show! Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as we enjoy writing it!


	16. The Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2x22 - The Wire  
> 3x22 - Explorers

Garak had expected to be led to the infirmary, a fate he was too worn down to argue against, but he was surprised when the doctor instead helped him to his own bed and had the necessary medical supplies brought over.

Bashir stayed at Garak's side. He left the room as little as possible and even fell asleep in a chair, rather than move to the main room and sleep on the couch. Bashir was awoken by sobbing.

“Garak?” he asked softly, rushing to the other's side.

“Leave me alone,” Garak muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don't think that would be a good idea right now,” Bashir said gently. “Your blood chemistry is severely imbalanced.” He placed a light hand on Garak's upper arm, planning to gently push him back. “You need to rest.” Garak swatted his hand away, leaping to his feet.

“Don't touch me,” he growled. Bashir stepped back, hoping he could still calm his patient.

“Just calm down.” That had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Garak snapped at him, smashing a vase and flipping over a table.

“There was a time, Doctor, when I was a power,” Garak hissed. “The protege, the right hand of Enabran Tain himself. I was on my way to becoming the next head of the Obsidian Order. My future was limitless until I threw it away.” Bashir frowned thoughtfully.

“Because you couldn't save Tain?” he asked, puzzled.

“No, Doctor, my disgrace was worse than that. Unimaginably worse.” Bashir's curiosity was plain on his face, and Garak was so very tired of hiding. “I gave in to _sentiment_ ,” he explained, disgusted by his own weakness.

“Sentiment?” Bashir echoed. He couldn't tell exactly what Garak meant by the word, only that it held a lot of significance to him.

“Don't pretend you don't know,” Garak snapped. “I'm sure you and your Federation friends have enjoyed laughing at the lovesick Cardassian.”

“That's not-” Bashir tried to interject. Garak couldn't bear to hear the polite denial the doctor was sure to offer.

“Compromised doesn't even begin to describe me. I betrayed Cardassia, the Order, myself.” He paused, suppressing a wave of nausea as he stated his worst crime, “I betrayed Tain.” Bashir's face drew closed as he processed the information. “Did you really believe that rescuing Major Kira and ruining Entek's plan gained me anything at home?” Garak scoffed at his own foolishness. “Or that killing Gul Toran and letting known traitors escape was part of some elaborate Cardassian scheme?” The throbbing of his head was almost unbearable. It made him want to scream and curse this entire damned station, but he settled with screaming at the man he loved. “Even after I ended our relationship, knowing how dangerous my feelings for you were, I still couldn't help but try and please you and your damned morals!”

“You pursued something you wanted,” Bashir said, his voice quiet yet firm, his expression cautious but supportive. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

“No! I was a fool!” Garak shouted furiously, stalking around the room. “I should've used you for information and done whatever I could to serve the State, no matter the cost. But because I was chilly and you were so warm, I failed in my duty and destroyed everything I had worked for.”

“And so they exiled you,” Bashir said softly, a hint of sadness creeping into his carefully neutral tone.

“That's right,” Garak exclaimed bitterly. “And the only thing I had to look forward to was that one day I might be able to get back together with you.” Bashir lifted his head, his eyes wide.

“I didn't realize that was such a horrifying prospect,” he said cautiously, not quite believing what he'd heard.

“Oh it's not,” Garak replied with frustrated longing, drawing closer to the object of his desires. “But instead I've had to watch your smug, sanctimonious face as you date some _girl_ who is even younger than me.” Bashir's brow furrowed.

“Leeta?” Bashir asked softly. He hadn't noticed Garak any of the times he'd been with Leeta, but then he'd been very careful not to look. He likely would have lost his nerve if he'd spotted the man he still loved.

“I hate this place, and I hate the way you make me feel,” Garak snarled at Bashir, circling around him.

Bashir wanted to tell Garak his relationship with Leeta was a sham, but he knew that would most likely cause more harm than good. He needed to calm Garak down, not discuss their future together. “Alright, Garak. That's your prerogative. Now I really think you should lie down,” he urged, stepping closer, trying to herd the other back to the bed.

“Get away from me,” Garak hissed. Bashir inched closer, hoping he could get close enough to subdue Garak and keep his patient from hurting himself. He failed. Garak flung himself at Bashir, throwing them both to the ground. Bashir tried to talk Garak down. He could probably overcome Garak's attack, Bashir had some close quarters combat training that he'd kept up with and his augmented strength if he needed, but he could easily hurt Garak and make his condition worse. He was spared having to fight back when Garak collapsed. Bashir called for an emergency medical team.

–

Once in the infirmary, Bashir focused on getting Garak stabilized. With the immediate danger taken care of, Bashir let Lense pull him into his office.

“I'm sorry to make you work during your shore leave. You don't have to do this if you don't want,” he apologized, his voice full of weariness. Lense smiled at him and handed him a mug of Tarkalean tea.

“You're just afraid I'll show you up on your home turf,” she teased. Bashir took a long sip of his drink.

“Maybe,” he conceded with a faint smile. “But don't let me stop you from taking a break.”

“That Cardassian in there is not algae, fecal matter, or remains of some civilization long dead. That is a living, breathing humanoid. Do you know how few of those I get to really deal with on the Lexington?” Lense asked seriously before her face broke into a sheepish smile. “This is better than a vacation for me.” Bashir chuckled despite himself.

“I'll make sure to tell Garak you're enjoying his agony,” he teased back.

“I'm not the only one.”

“What? Are Bajorans talking about him?” Bashir frowned. “That seems in poor taste.” Lense gave him a serious look.

“No. You, Julian. You didn't leave his side yesterday. You could have had me or one of your nurses relieve you, but you would not leave him. You...” Lense sighed. She was concerned. She watched Bashir's face carefully, observing his reaction. “Are you going to be okay if we can't save him?” Bashir looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

“We're going to save him,” he replied, avoiding even considering the question. Lense frowned.

“I've found something you should see,” she said, leading Bashir back to the room where Garak lay. She pulled up the superimposition of leukocytes from two different samples. Bashir leaned in, quickly taking in what he was being shown.

“The molecular structure of Garak's leukocytes has been altered,” Bashir muttered, turning to Lense. “That's what's causing the accumulation of toxins in his system.” Lense nodded.

“Can we synthesize Cardassian leukocytes?” she asked.

Bashir's expression darkened. They could easily synthesize the leukocytes if they had a proper database of Cardassian medical information, but the infirmary's computers had been wiped along with everything else. Chief O'Brien might have been able to recover some of the information given a few weeks, but they didn't have that kind of time. Trying to reconstruct the information from the samples of Garak's damaged leukocytes would take a similar amount of time.

“It would take weeks, and we don't have that much time,” he answered. “We have three or four days at most.”

Lense frowned thoughtfully. There was one option that could buy them more time, but it wasn't a pleasant one. Still, she spoke, “If we turned the implant back on, we should be able to keep him alive for another week or two.”

“No,” Garak protested. Bashir was instantly at his side. His expression tinged with concern and sorrow. He had already seen Garak die once, he didn't want to have to witness it again so soon.

“I understand how you feel,” he said gently, “but I'm not sure what else I can do for you.” They silently gazed at each other for a moment, so wrapped up in each other that neither of them noticed Lense quietly slip out of the room, leaving them alone.

“You've done enough, Doctor. More than I deserve,” Garak said softly. He paused, taking in the sight of the man he loved hovering over him, ready to do whatever it would take to save him. “Leeta is a lucky woman.” Garak offered a small smile. Bashir smiled back, gently taking Garak's hand in his own, careful not to interlace their fingers. This was the time for quiet assurances, not desperate passion.

“She loves Rom. I'm just helping her try to push him into doing something,” Bashir explained. Garak chuckled weakly.

“I appreciate you lying to me on my death bed. It's suitable for a man of my past,” he replied. Bashir gently squeezed his hand, as if by that action he could convince Garak of his sincerity.

“I'm not lying. And you're not on your death bed,” Bashir promised, his eyes burning with determination. With that, he straightened up and walked out, his stride unfaltering, as if he was going to move mountains to save Garak.

_Another lie,_ Garak thought.

–

Bashir rushed across the Promenade to the security office, relieved to find Odo seated at his desk.

“Can I help you, Doctor?” Odo asked.

“Am I right in believing that you still have contacts on Cardassia?” Bashir asked.

“Yes?” Odo nodded.

“Odo, I'm desperate.” Bashir felt a flash of panic rise within him as he realized the severity of the situation. “I need to contact a Cardassian willing to help Garak. Any Cardassian. I won't ask questions.” Odo gave him a sympathetic look.

“I'm sorry to tell you this, but people willing to help Garak, Cardassian or otherwise, are in short supply,” Odo replied. Bashir felt like he was about to collapse.

“Maybe I can get Rugal's father to help,” he mumbled vaguely, his thoughts spilling out. “We dealt with Gul Dukat for him.” Odo frowned thoughtfully.

“Just a moment, there may be one. A Cardassian woman.” Bashir looked at him expectantly.

“Who?”

“Enabran Tain's housekeeper. Her name is Mila.” Odo explained where Bashir could most likely find her, and the doctor hurried off to find a runabout.

–

Bashir headed to the runabout and nearly ran into Sisko, who had just disembarked from his trip.

“Julian?” Sisko looked at the frantic doctor with concern. “Where are you going?”

“Ben...” Bashir said, registering who was talking to him. “I'm sorry, I can't really talk.” He took a moment to try and figure out how exactly to explain his current situation. “Garak is dying.”

“I see...” Sisko's eyes widened. “Do what you need to do.” He nodded. That was all the permission Bashir felt he needed and was back on his way. “Try to come back in one piece!” Sisko called after him. Not that it mattered what Sisko told him at this point, Bashir was willing to do whatever it took to save Garak's life.

–

Bashir arrived at the Arawath Colony without incident. He beamed down to Enabran Tain's retirement home and found himself alone. He started to look around curiously, his eye drawn to a computer console.

“Stop!” a woman ordered. “Turn around.” Bashir did as she told, slowly turning to see an older Cardassian woman holding a disruptor pistol. She glared at him. “Who are you?”

“I'm Doctor Bashir from the Federation command at Deep Space 9. I'm looking for a woman called Mila,” he explained.

“You're Doctor Bashir?” Her eyes narrowed. “You're not what I pictured.”

“You know of me?”

“Why are you here?” she asked, not lowering the pistol.

“Garak is dying,” he answered, somehow keeping his voice steady.

“And you're trying to save him?”

“You sound surprised,” Bashir replied. The woman gave him a long look.

“I didn't think you,” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “...cared for him.” Bashir's eyes widened slightly as he realized the implication.

“He's still my friend,” Bashir protested. The woman stared at him, considering his reaction for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she slowly lowered the disruptor.

“I am Mila,” she introduced. “How can I help?”

Bashir smiled and explained what he needed. Mila moved over to the computer and searched for the information.

“I have to ask,” Bashir began slowly, “why are you willing to help Garak?” Mila gave him a sharp look accompanied by a familiar sly smile.

“I could ask you the same question,” she returned. Bashir took a deep breath, his gaze briefly falling away before rising to meet hers again.

“Because despite everything, I still love him,” Bashir replied honestly. “It's as simple as that.” Mila's smile turned warm.

“He's a sweet boy,” she said, not answering Bashir's earlier question. “He's had a difficult life.” Her eyes turned sharp, transforming the statement into a warning. Bashir simply nodded. Her point made, Mila turned back to the computer and pulled out a data clip.

“This should be everything you need,” she said, handing him the clip. “And please, tell Elim that I miss him.” Bashir smiled genuinely.

“I'll be sure to give him the message,” he said, then he gave the command to energize and was on his way back to the station.

–

Once the leukocytes had been synthesized and administered there was nothing else to do but wait. After an hour of him hovering unhelpfully in the way, Nurse Jabara had shooed him out of the room. Doctor Lense had suggested that get himself something to eat, which was how he found himself sitting alone at the Replimat, distractedly picking away at his plate.

–

Garak awoke in the infirmary feeling weak, but otherwise better than he had in days. The nurse tending to him recommended that he rest for at least a day, but she couldn't keep him from leaving. She'd brought him his clothes and then shut the privacy curtain, leaving him alone to change. He'd done so quickly, unwilling to spend a moment longer than necessary in the hideous garment given to patients. Clothed once again in warm and aesthetically pleasing clothing he stepped out from the curtain, intending to retreat back to his quarters and determine how best to salvage the mess he'd made during his illness. However, his retreat was halted by the doctor that Bashir had introduced him to all those long days ago, Elizabeth Lense.

“You should talk to Julian. He's been very worried about you,” she said. “I think he went to the Replimat.” Garak considered this information. Lense seemed sincere and Bashir's concern would make sense considering the man's personality. Garak smiled and nodded politely in response.

_Perhaps it would be best to start with Doctor Bashir after all,_ he thought, heading towards the Replimat.

He found his target sitting alone and looking exhausted. As Garak watched, Bashir let out a tired sigh and ran a hand over his face before taking a sip of his drink, his meal sitting barely touched on his plate. Garak decided to approach.

“May I join you?” he asked, hand already ready to pull out the empty chair.

“Garak,” Bashir exhaled, a mixture of frustration and joy in his tone. He looked like he was about to cry with relief. The doctor's expression always became more expressive and even more open when he was tired. Garak simply smiled and sat in the vacant chair.

“What are you doing up?” Bashir scolded, though the meager effect was lessened further by the delight in his eyes. “You're supposed to be in bed.”

“Out of the question. I couldn't stand being cooped up in that dreadful infirmary for another second. Besides, I feel perfectly fine.” That was somewhere between a truth and a lie, but a little weakness was nothing Bashir needed to worry about and it had already begun to fade. Garak glanced at Bashir's meal and decided on his course of deflection. “So, how's the I'danian spice pudding today?” Bashir was incredulous.

“How's the spice pudding? Is that all you have to say for yourself? How can you just sit there and pretend that the last ten days never happened?”

“I for one, Doctor, am perfectly satisfied with the way things turned out. And I see no need to dwell on what was doubtlessly a difficult time for both of us.” He paused. He knew he should leave the topic there, but he couldn't resist adding another comment. Garak needed to make it clear to the doctor that he wouldn't hold him to what he'd said to comfort a dying man. “We both told our fair share of lies these past few days, after all.” He expected Bashir to glare or let out a sigh of relief, but instead the doctor gave him an earnest look.

“Garak, everything I said was true,” Bashir said firmly.

“Even the lies?” Garak asked quietly, not quite ready to believe the implications of what he was being told.

Bashir fixed him with a look so tender that for a moment Garak thought his heart would break. Bashir smiled, and then he whispered, “Especially the lies.”

Garak froze, staring at Bashir, his mouth just slightly agape. After a moment of silence, Bashir's face flushed and he glanced down, gathering his dishes.

“My shift lets off at 2100,” he murmured. “I think I'll spend the evening in my quarters.” Garak could only nod vaguely as the doctor left. His mind was still processing their conversation and what it meant, but he now had hope that he could rekindle their old relationship.

_No,_ Garak thought.  _We can start a new one, out from under the shadow of the Order and Tain._

–

And so, around 2130, Garak found himself nervously hovering outside Bashir's quarters. The door slid open to reveal the man himself, Bashir's face lighting up as he recognized his guest, though a hint of seriousness remained present in his expression.

“Garak,” he greeted, “please come in.” Garak did so, noting as he entered that Bashir's quarters were quite warm. Clearly the doctor had planned ahead and adjusted the temperature for Garak's comfort. Bashir kept some distance between them, and, despite longing to move closer, Garak conceded to the doctor's wishes.

“Before we go any further there's something I need,” Bashir said nervously. Garak raised an eye ridge, but remained silent, letting Bashir say his piece. Bashir let out a shaky breath. “I need to be able to trust you. You're so evasive about everything, even important things, that it's impossible to get a straight answer sometimes. If we're going to do _this_ ,” he gestured between them, “again...I need more. I...” Bashir's shoulders slumped. “I can't go through that again.”

Garak's eyes slipped closed and, before he could lose his nerve, he spoke, “I know you want to know more about me. I know that my secrets both annoy and excite you. I know I can't tell you anything worthwhile without betraying myself, but...” He paused. This was it. He was balanced on a precipice, and he felt the depth of his feelings for the doctor well up in full force. He opened his eyes and met Bashir's anxious gaze. “If you ask me to betray myself, I will do it for you,” he pledged.

“There's one secret you _have_ to tell me. You cannot lie. I need the truth,” Bashir said solemnly.

Garak's heart clenched. He'd made his promise, and he would fulfill it. No matter what information – about Cardassia or the Order or Tain – Bashir asked for, Garak would give it to him.

“Ask,” he whispered, his tongue darting out to nervously moisten his lips.

“Do you love me?” Bashir asked simply.

Garak smiled, relief replacing the tension in his body. But then he saw the seriousness on the doctor's face. Bashir had let himself get lost in their previous relationship. He'd let himself fall in love, and Garak had spit in his face. This was a man who'd already been through a failed marriage, and had already been burned by Garak himself. This was not a romantic gesture, or a flirtatious joke. This was an ultimatum.

Garak chose not only to answer the question, but to do so in the words of Shakespeare, that damned Earth poet the doctor seemed so fond of. “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,” he quoted.

Bashir suppressed a tiny smile and shook his head. “Garak, please.” His eyes begged. “I need to know you mean it. Please just say it outright. For once, don't wear a mask of reference or innuendo.”

“My dear doctor. This is my most guarded and most precious secret. If it gets out, the consequences will be unimaginable. You won't leak it?”

Bashir visibly deflated, disappointed that Garak was going to deflect the question, but he nodded.

“I love you,” Garak stated plainly. “As pathetically as any man can love anyone.”

Bashir's face broke into a broad grin. He quickly crossed the room and pulled Garak into a kiss. The kiss wasn't a desperate explosion of passion, it was a quiet sigh of relief. They'd held back from each other for so long that just this was enough. When they broke apart, Bashir rested his head on Garak's shoulder, carefully avoiding the sensitive neck ridges. He let out a weary sigh, completely emotionally exhausted.

After a moment of comfortable silence, a yawn escaped from Bashir.

“Do you want me to leave?” Garak asked. Bashir pulled back to look him in the eyes, giving him a tired smile.

“No, you can stay. Though I'm afraid I'm not up for much more than going to sleep.” Bashir's smile turned into a teasing smirk. “Not that you should be engaging in any _strenuous activity_ anyway, since you only just got out of the infirmary.” Garak must have frowned a little because Bashir quickly continued. “But maybe tomorrow we could have breakfast in bed,” he purred suggestively. Garak let himself smile at the thought. It certainly was tempting, but there was one loose end that Garak wanted tied up as quickly as possible.

“Mm, and you're sure Leeta won't mind?” Garak gave a sly look as he watched Bashir realize what he'd forgotten.

“Damn.” Bashir laughed as he put his face in his hand. “I suppose you want me to break up with her?” This was clearly not a serious question, Bashir had no intention of continuing his relationship with Leeta.

“I'm old fashioned,” Garak replied, smirking. Bashir pressed a quick kiss to Garak's lips.

“I'll take care of it first thing tomorrow,” he promised. Garak raised a hand to caress Bashir's cheek.

“I'll hold you to that,” he said with a smile, before pulling his lover in for another kiss.

–

The next morning, Bashir headed out after making Garak promise not to push himself too hard. Bashir had his own promise to fulfill. He went straight to Leeta's quarters, where he explained what had happened.

“That's wonderful!” Leeta exclaimed, just stopping herself from hopping up and down. Bashir looked sheepishly at her.

“I just... I think you can imagine that this means for our plans...” he said awkwardly. She laughed.

“Don't worry about me, Julian! We got Rom's attention and now I'll be available again. Besides, you got what you wanted!”

“I suppose...” he said hesitantly, still feeling like he'd left Leeta in the lurch. She smiled at him, her raised eyebrow adding a sense of amusement to her expression.

“You are happy, right, Julian?” she asked. Bashir couldn't help a huge guilty grin appearing on his face.

“Very.”

“Then that makes two of us!” She took him into an incredibly enthusiastic hug and kissed him on the cheek before she broke away. “This is amazing!” She was actually hopping up and down now. Bashir found himself laughing with her. He let out a sigh as his laughter died down.

“I should go,” Bashir said. Leeta grinned at him.

“Don't let me keep you,” she replied, shooing him out into the hallway where he passed Rom with a smile and a nod. Rom watched the doctor with a puzzled look, then walked over to Leeta who was still standing in her doorway.

“What's up with him?” Rom asked, clearly curious but also looking like he was dreading the answer. Leeta's grin faded into something softer.

“He...” She stopped, the explanation about Garak dying on her tongue. She shrugged. “He just broke up with me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! This chapter is early this week because Ameera and I are going out of town this weekend and we didn't want to leave you on that cliffhanger for an extra week.


	17. The Sisko Family Dinner and More Vignettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3x25 - Facets  
> 3x26 - The Adversary

Bashir did have to return to work eventually, and Garak wanted to check on the repairs to his shop, which were nearing completion. They strolled along the Promenade together, close enough to touch, but still separate, giving no outward sign of their resumed involvement. They talked lightly of inconsequential things, such as Bashir's current research and the adjustments Garak planned to make to his shop. Then, as they approached the infirmary, they slowed to a stop.

“Well...” Bashir said awkwardly, unsure how to say goodbye. Garak smiled softly at him, a rare genuine smile.

“I'll see you at lunch tomorrow,” Garak said. Bashir nodded. A brief flash of a mischievous glint in his eyes was all the warning Garak received before Bashir drew close and placed a tender kiss on his cheek.  
Garak shot Bashir a weak glare as the doctor pulled back. Garak was not one for obvious public displays of affection. Bashir simply gave him an impish smile before dashing into the infirmary. Garak let out a soft sigh as he turned to leave, only to discover Sisko standing nearby with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Commander,” Garak greeted.

“Mister Garak,” Sisko returned with a smile. It was the kind of smile that seemed friendly at first glance but had a slightly threatening edge to it that made it unsettling. After a moment, Sisko moved on, but the point had been made. Sisko was now aware of their relationship and would likely be keeping a close eye on Garak for the foreseeable future.

Garak shoved his discomfort aside and hurried to check on the status of his shop.

–

As Garak and Bashir stood outside of the door to Sisko's quarters, Garak adjusted his tunic yet again.

“You look fine,” Bashir reassured him. Garak was about to reply when the door slid open, allowing them inside. Bashir immediately made his way to where Sisko was cooking and lifted up a pot lid. His nose crinkled in disgust as he quickly put the lid back down.

“Beets are a fine vegetable when prepared correctly,” Sisko said, noticing Bashir's expression.

“You've certainly done your best, Ben,” Bashir admitted, “but I still think they're a lost cause.” Sisko smiled.

“Why don't you help Jake set the table, Julian? That way you don't have to be near them,” Sisko teased. Bashir smiled back, but then glanced at Garak, who was watching the whole exchange with a slightly wary expression. “Garak can help me here.”

Garak's eyes were both fearful and pleading with Bashir. He silently begged his lover not to leave him with a look. Of course, Bashir just returned it with another infuriating smile, saying “Yes, I'm sure he can,” before flitting off to the other side of the room.

And just like that, Garak was assigned to help prepare Human food with a man who probably wanted him dead as both a Starfleet officer and a friend to Bashir. “I must admit, I'm out of my element here, Commander.” Garak gave a nervous smile as he approached the various warm smells that Sisko was hovering over.

“Ah, but being a chef can't be that different than being a tailor, you're creating something!” He didn't look at the Cardassian. He seemed absolutely absorbed in his passion, until he gave a side glance that informed Garak he was certainly not lost in the moment. “Although I suppose you're a bit out of your element as a tailor too.”

Across the room, Bashir faced his own Sisko interrogation.

“So, you're back together with Garak,” Jake commented, handing Bashir some silverware.

“That's right,” he replied, grinning broadly. When Jake didn't immediately comment, Bashir nervously dropped his gaze to the table, focusing on his task. “I suppose now you're going to ask me why?”

Jake chuckled. “I know why. You love him.” Bashir resisted the urge to gawk at Jake's perceptive statement.

“Oh?” he said with a casualness he didn't feel. “How do you know that?”

“You moped about it for long enough that I _hope_ it's love,” Jake said, laying out the napkins. “No, what I want answers to is how your relationship with Leeta happened and ended so quickly.” Bashir decided to deflect, not quite willing to admit that his relationship with Leeta had been completely fake.

“When you know what it feels like to fall in love, maybe I'll tell you,” Bashir conceded, placing the last of the silverware. Jake sighed in the way that only a teenager being dismissed as young could.

“I already know, remember? I asked Major Kira out on a date while Ambassador Troi was here.”

“Which, as I recall happened right after your own relationship with a dabo girl ended, so you shouldn't be so baffled,” Bashir replied, smiling.

“I don't think you can use the 'Betazoid hormones' defense for this situation,” he challenged, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Bashir frowned. “I'm not looking to defend my relationship against a seventeen year old or anyone else, for that matter,” he said, more annoyance than he'd meant creeping into his tone.

Jake lifted his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey, Julian. Don't worry about it. I'm on your side.” He shrugged. “I like you and Garak together.”

“You do?” Bashir asked, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise.

“Just don't count on my dad being so thrilled,” Jake said with a knowing look.

Julian glanced over to where he'd left Garak with Sisko. He knew that discomfort was to be expected but that may have been the most tense dinner preparation Julian had ever seen in his life. Thankfully some of the tension was pushed aside, if not diffused, by the door chiming, then sliding open to reveal Jadzia in a lilac dress that complimented her eyes. She stepped into the room, taking in the situation as she entered. Her eyes lit up when she spied Garak.

“The man of the hour!” She walked up to Garak and while he'd always known her to be tall, he would have appreciated her not wearing heels and towering over him. It struck Garak that he was actually the shortest person in the room at this moment, why had Jake grown so rapidly? Height hardly bothered Garak usually, but he would take any advantage he could get this evening. “Have you ever had Cajun food before, Garak?” He simply shook his head. “Well, you'd better at least pretend to like it or else you'll offend our host.” Jadzia's smile was relatively friendly. Relatively.

“I would never intend for that to happen.” Garak nodded carefully.

“Nothing I cook is bad.” Sisko laughed while straightening up, only making Garak feel shorter. “So there won't be a problem... as long as you're _honest_.” 

“Is dinner ready?” Bashir desperately tried to break the tension. “It smells wonderful.” Jake seemed to be thoroughly amused by the whole situation while the other three turned and gave Bashir the same “that was obvious” look. 

“I’ll start dishing everything out. You all sit down.” Sisko smiled, but before turning back to his food, he gave a special look to Garak. Garak couldn’t help but gulp at the imposing figure who could easily poison him tonight. Still, sitting down next to Bashir made things a bit better, especially since he was given a reassuring squeeze on the knee under the table.

“How are you feeling, Garak?” Jadzia did seem to genuinely care about the answer.

“Much better, thank you.” He smiled and looked to Bashir. “You have an excellent chief medical officer here.” Bashir blushed slightly and took a sip of water with a sly smile.

“And I’m sure you’re a good patient.” That may not have been intended as a joke, but both Garak and Bashir couldn’t help but laugh at Jadzia’s words. Jake joined in on the laughter.

“So I take it he was very good.” Jake said with the guilty smile all young men had when speaking in innuendo.

“Jake!” Jadzia mock scolded while laughing herself. “You’re growing up too fast! Go easy on me and slow down with the adult humor, I’m an old man!”

For a quick moment Garak panicked at the reminder of Dax’s years, thinking that he was also the youngest person in the room, but that quickly was consoled by Jake’s presence. Still, the only person he was older than the rest had all seen in diapers. This did not bode well.

“When you started dating, I started going gray.” Bashir nodded at Jake with a smile.

“You were definitely going gray before that.” Garak scoffed with a laugh. “Though I happen to like it.” He added when he saw Bashir’s frown.

“Julian obviously likes gray too.” Jadzia said, eyeing Garak. For a moment, he didn’t know what she was referring to until he saw his own hands. Ah, his color would be unusual to Trill and humans. “Do Cardassian women wear makeup often in your experience? I imagine it would be very different with the scales.”

“Nearly all women on Cardassia color their kinat’hU, but that tends to be it.” Garak pointed to the third scale down his neck ridge to give them a visual. “We don’t blemish in the same ways many other humanoids do, so I suppose it was never really viewed as a necessity.” He didn’t mind talking about this, though he did worry that his obviously alien physiology only further isolated him for the evening.

“I could go without pimples.” Jake nodded sadly. Garak studied the young man’s face, his skin looked smooth, though he had no idea if that was only achieved through some sort of medical treatment.

“Why that particular scale?” Jadzia asked, clearly fascinated. Bashir smiled knowingly while Garak floundered for a response.

“Social convention, I suppose.” He decided on.

“You ‘suppose’!” Bashir chuckled, essentially informing everyone else that there was something particular about that scale. Jadzia grinned mischievously, probably guessing correctly that it was an erogenous zone while Jake raised an eyebrow and then seemed to lose interest.

“And here we are!” Commander Sisko said proudly, expertly carrying three plates over at once. He gave the first serving to Dax, then Bashir, and then Garak. It made sense that the man could hardly carry over five plates at once and it also seemed proper that the host and his son be served only after their guests, but Garak found himself reading too much into being the third one served. Eventually Sisko had served Jake as well and then took his seat at the head of the table which, unfortunately, was to the direct left of Garak. “Mm!” The proud man closed his eyes and wafted the scents from his plate upward.

Jake was obviously accustomed to this kind of grand cooking. While everyone else seemed to take in the lovely presentation and treat of actually eating a cooked meal instead of something replicated, he essentially destroyed his plate with his fork, shoving the food in ferociously. “Jake, you’re making your grandfather cry.” Sisko shook his head at the sight while slowly starting to eat and savoring each bite.

“I need more food than you.” Jake grinned and pat his far too flat stomach. “I’m still growing.”

“I hope not…” Garak muttered under his breath at the image of a Sisko growing any taller. It seemed Commander Sisko heard him and burst out laughing.

“I couldn’t agree more, Garak!” Sisko said before leaning back in his chair. He then stopped with a smile and seemed to examine Garak. It was beyond unnerving. “You know that I thought I’d designed enough space on our solar sail ship to fit us both but I swear the boy grew at least three inches during the trip.” There was an opening!

“No doubt a sinister plot by Gul Dukat to get you to give up your journey.” Garak nodded. When in doubt, make jokes at Dukat’s expense, no one would defend him here. Sisko nodded with a laugh.

“You may be onto something. You know he wasn’t going to come along and then he suddenly changed his mind.” Sisko’s smile turned more genuine and proud as he glanced over to Jake. “Dukat must have given him orders.”

“Ah, what’s our double agent’s plan now that his last mission failed?” Jadzia said to Jake who shook his head with a smile.

“My toughest mission yet.” Jake put down his fork for the first time in a while and mimicked his father’s motion of leaning back in his seat. “Setting my dad up on a date.” Now the attention was entirely on Commander Sisko, who blushed so slightly that maybe only Garak noticed it.

“Now if that’s not sinister, I don’t know what is.” Bashir laughed. “What happens if the date is a complete and utter failure?”

“I’ll be exiled, I suppose.” Jake shrugged casually with a smirk. Then the room got awkward and Jake seemed to regret his words. He gave Garak an apologetic smile as all the eyes returned to him.

Garak looked at the faces staring at him. Jadzia: warm, incredibly curious, and utterly amused, Julian: full of love, tenderness, and panicking eyes as he was clearly calculating everything that could go wrong at this dinner, Jake: awkward, bright, and easily one of the most personable creatures Garak had ever met. And then, finally, Commander Benjamin Sisko himself. Sisko wore a mask of pleasantries and the congenial host, but it seemed to only hide another mask. Garak saw that Sisko’s slight and conscious body language choices were meant to intimidate and show dominance, but his eyes betrayed him.

Garak then realized the reason for the tension this evening. It wasn’t that Sisko hated him as a Cardassian or even a former spy, he didn’t even seem to view him as an improper match for his friend. No, Sisko was protecting the very warmth and love that was in this room. He loved Bashir, he was one of his oldest friends, Bashir had even been his teacher, and Sisko knew Garak had hurt him. He didn’t mind them together, he minded the pain that Garak could potentially cause. Garak was so used to being an isolated individual, his responsibilities were to himself and to Cardassia. Everything else was extravagance. Sisko extended his care to those important to him, like Bashir. This dinner was a taste of Sisko’s home environment, where Bashir and anyone whom Bashir loved was welcome. This wasn’t an interrogation, this was a subscription. Garak was welcome to this exclusive world of Sisko’s as long as he followed the rules. Never hurt Bashir again.

Garak raised his glass, smiled at Jake and then nodded to Commander Sisko himself. “I can certainly think of worse fates.”

–

A few nights after Jadzia's zhian'tara, Bashir found himself absently replicating the same sweets that had been in Jadzia's quarters, tossing one into the air and catching it in his mouth. Garak watched him with a raised eye ridge.

“Didn't you say you were going to start watching what you ate?” he asked, curious not judging. Bashir chuckled sheepishly and looked down at the bowl of treats in his hand.

“So I did,” he answered. “Torias was very fond of the simple pleasures of life. I still feel an impression of his memories in my mind.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I can still remember how it felt pushing aside Nilani's concerns and deciding to test that shuttlecraft...and the accident.” Bashir joined Garak on the couch. “Is it the same for you?” he asked. “With Verad?”

Garak frowned. “Verad's memories were fuzzy, even during the ritual,” he replied. Bashir tilted his head, giving Garak a frown of his own.

“You're deflecting,” he accused. Garak let out a sigh.

“You must understand, Julian, Verad's memories... It wasn't exactly pleasant seeing his time on the station.” Garak paused, considering his next sentence. “I suppose the most vivid part I can remember is Commander Sisko shooting me, and I remember being sure that he wouldn't.” Bashir's mouth fell open into a small 'o'. Garak shrugged. “As I said, his memories were incomplete, but it was a strange experience nonetheless.” Garak caught the guilty look on Bashir's face and decided to change the topic. “Have you heard how Nog did on his exam?”

Bashir smiled, eagerly picking up on the new subject. “Yes. Actually he came into Quark's wearing the cadet uniform you made.”

Garak let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well as long as he's happy to wear that fashion atrocity Starfleet calls a uniform I suppose that's all that matters.”

–

Garak could tell something was off as soon as Bashir stepped into his shop. The normally cheerful doctor was subdued, even a bit melancholy. Garak said nothing as Bashir approached his work table.

“Are you closing soon?” Bashir asked quietly, even though they were alone in the shop. Garak nodded; he always tried to close early when Bashir came back from a mission. Bashir gave a faint smile and collapsed onto a chair. He watched silently as Garak packed up his work, then Garak closed up the shop and they silently made their way to Bashir's quarters, their hand loosely clasped together.

Once inside, Garak allowed himself to be led to the couch. He sat while Bashir sprawled, leaning into his Cardassian lover's chest. Garak wrapped his arms around Bashir, drawing a sigh out of the other man.

“What's wrong, Julian?” he asked softly.

“I can't tell you much,” Bashir replied, stalling. “A lot of it is classified.” Garak just hummed, running a soothing hand down Bashir's arm. Bashir let out another sigh. “There was a Changeling infiltrator on the Defiant. I got locked in a room, and he took my place.” Garak could feel a shudder run through the doctor's body. “I hate it,” Bashir muttered. “I hate feeling trapped. I hate being unable to do anything. I hate feeling like I can be _replaced_.”

Garak frowned. The way Bashir was talking these seemed like old hurts, complaints so worn they were embedded in his personality. He continued his soothing ministrations and let Bashir continue.

“The idea that I'm so indistinct that I could be replaced and no one would notice, that I could just be thrown away and forgotten, replaced with a new version.” Bashir started to choke up. Garak tightened his hold, trying to wordlessly reassure Bashir. Bashir twisted around to face Garak.

_I could just tell him._ The thought sprang to the front of Bashir's mind. And it was true, he  _could_ tell Garak about the root cause of these fears: that when he was six, one version of Julian Subatoi Bashir had been deemed a failure and replaced with the current, upgraded version. Garak was likely to be fairly accepting because, as far as Bashir had been able to determine, Cardassia had never had anything like the Eugenics Wars. Furthermore, Garak was less likely to take Bashir's deception as a personal slight, but would instead blame himself for failing to see through it.

_It would be nice,_ Bashir thought,  _to have someone to confide in._ He dismissed the thought almost as soon as it appeared. This was his secret to bear, and caution in this matter was always more important than any romantic ideas of shared secret keeping. He hadn't even told Palis until nearly a year into their marriage.

Garak remained still, watching Bashir's breathing steady as he calmed. He was somewhat surprised when Bashir leaned forward and kissed him, but Garak kissed back gently, letting Bashir dominate the kiss. When Bashir pulled back, he could feel Garak observing him. He looked up and gave Garak a weak smile.

“You'd notice if I was replaced, wouldn't you?” he asked, his voice still carrying a slight air of desperation.

Garak lifted a hand to Bashir's cheek. “My dear, it would take a very impressive duplicate indeed to fool an agent of the Obsidian Order,” he reassured. “Especially if they were to replace my lover.” He paused a moment to watch some of the tension leave Bashir's face before pulling him back in for another kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! We're all the way through season 3! I'm so happy that you guys are still enjoying this.


	18. The Way of the Warrior - Part1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x01 - The Way of the Warrior

Odo had anticipated that the Klingons might seek retribution against Garak for his comments that morning. That was why Odo and several other security officers had arrived at Garak's shop and found the tailor being assaulted by several Klingons. After a discussion with Sisko and Odo, wherein both of them were incredulous that he wouldn't be pressing charges, Garak made his way to the infirmary. As soon as he spotted him, Bashir's professional mask dropped slightly to reveal an expression of worry and concern. Bashir whisked him into a back room for treatment.  
After a tricorder scan, Bashir's frown only deepened. As he bustled about, grabbing various medical devices he asked Garak, “How did this happen?”

Garak explained how his breakfast with Odo had transitioned into a confrontation with some Klingons, which had then lead to the attack in his shop. During his story, Bashir worked, carefully repairing the damage.

“I can't believe you're not pressing charges,” Bashir commented when Garak had finished. Bashir traded off devices and switched from repairing bones to repairing bruises. Garak smiled dismissively.

“Constable Odo and Captain Sisko expressed similar concern. But really, my dear, there was no harm done.” Bashir glared at him.

“They broke seven of your transverse ribs and fractured your clavicle,” he said furiously. Garak smiled. One of the surprising delights of dating Doctor Bashir was that he got to see the normally kind, caring man turn threatening in Garak's defense. Bashir spent so much of his time being genial that it was easy to forget that he was, to some degree, a trained soldier.

“Ah, but I got off several cutting remarks which no doubt did serious damage to their egos,” Garak quipped. Bashir paused to look at Garak, his expression still distinctly sour.

“Elim, this isn't funny. I don't like seeing you hurt.” Garak grasped Bashir's free hand with his own, running his thumb in a comforting circle on the back of Bashir's hand.

“Julian, thanks to your ministrations, I am almost completely healed,” he soothed. Bashir did give in and calm slightly, which Garak took as a signal to resume his teasing. “But the damage I did to them will last a lifetime.” He smirked. Bashir rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, pulling his hand free. Garak gave him an apologetic look and held his hand up. Bashir gave him a glare for a moment, then let out another sigh and pressed his palm to Garak's, blushing as Garak interlaced their fingers. His lover comforted, Garak's mind moved on to other concerns.

“What I can't understand is their inexplicable hostility toward me,” Garak said, thinking aloud. “Maligning Constable Odo is one thing. After all, he's a Changeling. The Klingons don't know him as well as we do. But relations between the Klingon and Cardassian Empires have never been anything but amicable.”

“With the exception of the Betreka Nebula incident,” Bashir commented, giving Garak's hand a quick squeeze before returning to his work.

“A minor skirmish,” Garak dismissed lightly, delighted that Bashir was finally playing along.

“That lasted eighteen years,” Bashir replied.

“That was ages ago.” Garak paused, pretending to think. “Perhaps they decided they just didn't like me?” Bashir smirked, setting his tools aside to cup Garak's cheek with his hand.

“Not like you?” he asked with fake incredulity. “Impossible.” Then Bashir leaned down and pressed his lips to Garak's in a reassuring kiss.

“You're right, as always, my dear,” Garak answered when they broke apart. “They must have mistaken me for someone else.”

–

The situation with the Klingons had rapidly deteriorated. Worf had managed to uncover what the Empire was planning: a full assault on Cardassia, with the suspicion that the recent coup had been caused by Founder infiltrators as the justification. And now the Klingon fleet was on its way to Cardassia, and they had been ordered by the Federation Council not to get involved, worse still, the Bajoran government had agreed to abide by the Council's decision as well, so they couldn't directly take action and warn Cardassia about the incoming attack.

“The way I see it, we only have got two choices, both of them bad. If we stand by and do nothing, we run the risk of being the Klingons' next target. But if we disobey Starfleet orders and warn the Cardassians, we may end up starting a war with the Klingons,” O'Brien stated.

“Which means we need a third option,” Sisko replied, turning to look thoughtfully at Bashir. The others slowly followed his gaze as Bashir's eyes widened in realization.

“We're just going to have Julian pass the information on to Garak?” Kira asked. Jadzia shook her head.

“That would destroy his career, and he could be charged with treason or espionage,” she explained.

“But,” Bashir chimed in, “if Garak _happened_ to overhear some information while hemming trousers...”

Sisko smiled. “I've been needing a new suit.”

–

Garak had just finished a sale with Morn when the com chimed. It was Captain Sisko.  
“Mister Garak, I'd like to see you in the wardroom immediately. Bring your tailor's kit.”

Garak raised an eye ridge. That was highly unusual. Almost no one commed him except Bashir when he was too busy to get away from the infirmary or Ops, or a customer looking to schedule an appointment. Furthermore, Sisko almost never communicated with him directly unless it was important. Even the dinner invitations, which were clearly meant as Sisko's way of keeping an eye on his relationship with Bashir, were given to the doctor, who then passed them on. Whatever Sisko had contacted him about was likely very important.

Garak packed up his supplies and made his way to the wardroom. He entered into what appeared to be the entire senior staff in the middle of a meeting, he glanced around, looking questioningly at Bashir who gave him an encouraging smile.

He quickly pieced together that the report Dax was giving was entirely for his benefit, and once he had the information he needed, he made his excuses and left. He went back to his shop and activated the hidden terminal he had for occasions like this. Unfortunately, he had to deliver his information to Dukat, who had made such a show of gloating it left Garak with little doubt whom he could thank for his recent exile, but as long as Cardassia was saved, that was all that mattered.

–

Bashir was on the Defiant when it headed out to rendezvous with the Cardassian council members, leaving Garak on the station to worry about both his home planet and his lover. He went to his shop, hoping for a distraction, despite knowing that he would have little, if any, business today. _34_ _th_ _Rule of Acquisition, ha!_ he scoffed to himself. War, or at least the lead up to it, was certainly not good for the tailoring business.

There were a few items waiting to be mended that Garak saw to, but that didn't last long. He'd started absently designing another outfit for Bashir when Odo entered his shop.

“Constable,” he greeted politely. “Are you shopping for yourself or, perhaps,” he paused significantly, “a friend?” He raised an eye ridge suggestively.

Odo scoffed. “Neither. I thought that since your usual lunch companion is absent you might appreciate the company.”

Garak deflected, “That's very kind of you, Constable, but-”

“But what?” Odo interrupted. “Don't try to tell me you have tailoring work.” Garak openly dropped his gaze to the side, letting Odo know that he'd guessed correctly. “You should eat.”

Garak let out a sigh. “Very well, but only because business is slow today,” he conceded. He let Odo lead him to the Replimat and distract him with security updates while he ate.

–

Meanwhile, on the Defiant, all the council members had been beamed over from Dukat's ship and put through blood tests, with one holdout.

“Thank you, Doctor, but if you don't mind, I would like to go to the bridge now,” Dukat all but ordered, trying to push past Bashir.

“This will only take a minute,” Bashir reassured, blocking his path. “Your arm please.” Bashir was carefully watching his tone and body language. There was a certain current of fondness and caring that permeated the debates and arguments of Cardassian flirting. Garak was fond of a style of intense teasing that would almost be recognizable to humans as flirtation. For this interaction, however, the doctor kept his tone and body language firm but bland.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dukat demanded.

“Just a simple blood screening.”

“I assure you, Doctor, I am not a changeling.”

Bashir forced himself not to smirk. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“I find this whole procedure offensive,” Dukat grumbled. The doctor failed to suppress an exasperated eyeroll.

“And I find you offensive. Now hold out your arm, or I'll have a security officer do it for you.”

He was finally permitted to perform the test. It came back negative, which Dukat reacted to with smug self-satisfaction.

–

Back on the station, Garak had made his way to Quark's for some kanar. If he was going to face the possible destruction of his home world, as well at the possibility of his and Bashir's deaths, he deserved at least one glass of kanar.

They hadn't even had time for a proper goodbye. Bashir had been too busy double-checking the Defiant and station's infirmaries to give him the farewell they had both wanted. They'd had to settle for a single passionate kiss, full of concern and longing, and a promise that Bashir would do his best to return in one piece.

Quark had offered Garak a human drink, root beer. It was vile. Everything about it was repulsive. It was too sweet and the cascade of bubbles that ran through it felt terrible on his tongue. And yet, in a strange way it reminded him of Doctor Bashir. Forceful and bright and sweet.

He'd finally gotten through the glass of kanar he originally came in for when an alarm started to sound. He hurried back to his shop to fetch his extra disruptor pistols and batteries. Battle preparations complete, he went to the infirmary, nodding as he passed Odo heading in the opposite direction.

Bashir had a phaser at his hip. _This might be the first time I've seen him armed,_ Garak mused. Bashir's eyes brightened as he noticed him, but his expression remained grim. They moved together into an embrace.

“ _Elim,”_ Bashir whispered in his ear. In one word managing to convey so many thoughts: _I love you. Be safe. I wish we had more time for this. Don't die._

“ _Julian,”_ Garak whispered back, conveying the same sentiments. He held the doctor close, neither of them wanted this moment to end.

Finally, they drew back. Bashir held up his hand, Garak eagerly pressed his against Bashir's and interlaced their fingers, carefully squeezing the doctor's hand. They stood like that for an all too brief moment before pulling apart and heading about their tasks. The doctor prepared his infirmary for the influx of patients, and Garak headed to the room where he knew the Cardassian council members would be.

 


	19. The Way of the Warrior - Part2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x01 - The Way of the Warrior

It was an odd thing, fighting alongside a man who so openly despised him, but both Garak and Dukat clearly agreed that the Klingons were the more pressing threat. But once that threat had passed, their unspoken truce remained.

Garak was not going to be allowed to see the council members, and there was no way that Dukat would tell them about his help. So instead of waiting outside the door, desperately hoping for any kind of acknowledgment, Garak went to the infirmary. He had some minor injuries that could easily explain his presence, but wasn't the real reason he was there.

When Bashir walked out of the back, it was like a weight had been lifted from Garak's chest, and from the way the doctor's eyes lit up, Garak could tell he was feeling the same way. Their lips crashed together, reassuring each one that the other was still alive.

Pulling back from the kiss, Bashir still held Garak's face in his hands. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his eyes already scanning, looking for injuries.

“Nothing major,” Garak reassured him quietly, still slightly breathless from the kiss. Bashir smiled tenderly.

“Good.” One of his hands moved to caress Garak's cheek. They leaned in for another kiss when they were interrupted by a choked noise of indignation. Both of them turned to see Gul Dukat staring at them mouth agape, his expression a mixture of horror and disgust.

“Doctor!” Dukat sputtered.

Bashir straightened up, not removing his hands from Garak. “Is there something I can help you with, Dukat?”

“Shouldn't you be tending to your patients?” Dukat demanded.

Bashir let out a frustrated sigh as he crossed the room to get a medical tricorder. He flipped it open and scanned Dukat. “You're fine,” he reported dryly, placing the tricorder back. “Minor cuts and bruises...although...” Before either Cardassian could react, the doctor grabbed a d'k tahg left over from the battle and cut across Dukat's palm. He stepped back, examining the blood on the blade.

“You-!” Dukat exclaimed furiously.

“Not a Changeling,” Bashir stated, trading the dagger for a dermal regenerator and quickly repairing the damage he'd just done.

“I assume you tested _him_ as well,” Dukat sneered, glaring at Garak.

“Oh, I have a very _special_ test for Garak,” Bashir replied suggestively, smirking.

Dukat narrowed his eyes. Bashir  responded with one of his overly confident smiles. “Oh, don’t be jealous, Dukat.” He said as he put his arm around a relatively mortified Garak. “I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Someone who appreciates ego more than substance and personality.”

“Shame his wife doesn’t seem to though.” Garak nodded with false pity and Bashir widened his eyes, he’d actually forgotten Dukat was married. “Although that’s never stopped you from exploring other options.” Garak added, turning back to Dukat now that he’d regained his footing. “It’s certainly not hindered her efforts to find someone who can satisfy her.”

Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, Dukat stormed off, leaving the two lovers alone again. Bashir let out a weary sigh.

“Unfortunately, I do have to get back to work,” Bashir said ruefully. Garak smiled back at him.

“I should check on the condition of my shop. I had a bolt of Andorian silk that just came in and I want to make sure it wasn't damaged.” Garak gave Bashir a sly look. “Bloodstains can be so difficult to remove.”

Bashir chuckled. “You would know,” he teased, then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Garak's forehead in the middle of his Chufa. Garak shivered against him, causing Bashir to pull back and look at him in alarm.

“Garak?” he asked, suddenly concerned. Garak slowly blinked up at him, his eyes slightly dazed.

“My dear,” Garak said, “this is conversation best left for another time and a more _private_ location.”

Bashir's eyes widened as he grasped the meaning in Garak's tone. “I'll see you tonight for dinner then, my quarters?” he offered. Garak nodded, smiling, and then headed to his shop, leaving Bashir wishing the time would go faster.

–

One  _very_ educational evening and several days later, Bashir and O'Brien were sitting at the bar, having finished the first session of their Battle of Britain program. Bashir pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his hair while O'Brien got their drinks from Quark. He handed Bashir his Scotch.

“Well?” O'Brien asked. “What did you think?”

Bashir grinned at him. “It's brilliant. You were right, Miles.”

“Told you so,” O'Brien returned with a hint of self-satisfaction.

“If we're going to do this regularly, we could commission Garak to make better uniforms,” Bashir suggested, pushing back a too-long sleeve as he grabbed his drink. “What?” he asked, catching the Chief's eye roll.

“You're dating a tailor so now you're too good for replicated clothes?” O'Brien teased, before taking a swig from his glass.

Bashir laughed. “He's spoiled me. Ruined me for all other clothes.” O'Brien was about to reply when Jadzia sauntered over. Quark handed her a drink and she turned to them.

“So,” she began, her eyes glittering. “What can you tell me about Worf?” O'Brien answered her at length, explaining what he knew about the Klingon. When he was finished, they both turned to Bashir.

“I can't be much help, I'm afraid,” he said sheepishly, shrugging. “I didn't spend much time with the bridge crew.”

O'Brien gave him a strange look. “Hang on, I remember seeing you in Ten Forward with Riker fairly often.”

Bashir's gaze darted away, embarrassed. “Will and I talked, yes,” he said in as casually a tone as he could manage.

“You were almost always the first one he went to after an away mission!” O'Brien accused, his eyes narrowing.

“Not every away mission,” Bashir protested lightly, taking a quick sip of his drink.

Jadzia smirked at him, which was never a good sign. “Didn't he do 'field work' for you, Julian?” she asked knowingly.

Bashir blanched. One of his worst fears was coming true. “...how do you know?” he asked weakly. His arrangement with Riker was not something he wanted to become public knowledge.

“When the Enterprise was on leave here, he and I played a few games of Tongo. He asked about you because he knew you were stationed here.” Her eyes twinkled with mischievous delight.

Bashir groaned. “Who else did he tell on the station?” His reputation was going to be in tatters.

“Just the Ferengi playing with us. I think you gained a lot of points with Quark honestly.” No, his reputation was already in tatters.

O'Brien chose this moment to ask, “Wait, what's so embarrassing about field work?”

Jadzia's smirk somehow appeared even more playfully threatening. “Well, when he said 'field work' what he me-”

“Want to hear about the holosuite program we just did, Jadzia?” Bashir cut her off. This was _not_ how he wanted O'Brien to find out about this. He didn't want O'Brien to find out about this _at all_ , but this was certainly one of the worse ways. “I don't know if you know about the Battle of Britain, but it's a very famous historic air battle that took place in the mid 20th century on Earth.” Jadzia didn't even pretend to be distracted by his blatant attempt to change the subject. Then O'Brien turned to him, smirking.

“The longer you keep me in suspense, the worse it gets in my mind,” he teased, clearly interested now that Bashir had tried so desperately to hide the information.

Bashir let out a sigh of surrender. “Will was very...” he searched for the right word to start his explanation, “amorous.”

O'Brien's eyes grew wide. “You were sleeping with Commander Riker!?” he asked incredulously.

_Not the right word then_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully as he protested, “No! ...Well, just the once.” O'Brien's expression somehow grew more incredulous and uncomfortable. Bashir decided that plowing ahead was in the interest of everyone's comfort. “Look, Riker had a lot of sexual encounters with various species, species that we have little information about. So I...may have...asked his thoughts on them.”  
“The species?” O'Brien asked weakly, clearly hoping the conversation would suddenly change directions.

“...The encounters,” Bashir replied sheepishly. O'Brien quickly glanced at Jadzia, whose knowing smile did nothing to ease his look of extreme discomfort. Bashir let out a sigh. “Look, I know it sounds strange. That's why I don't want people to know about it.” He sent a pointed glare in Jadzia's direction.

“Oh please,” Jadzia laughed, “you think I'm judging? Anything for science, Julian.” She lifted her glass, smirking over the rim, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively for a moment before she took a sip.

“I'm pretty sure that philosophy is how the Eugenics War happened,” O'Brien commented.

Bashir coughed uncomfortably. “Well, it's really not the same thing,” he hedged, hoping the conversation would quickly turn to another subject, any other subject. If there was anything he wanted to talk about less than his arrangement with Riker, it was the Eugenics War.

“True,” O'Brien conceded readily. For a brief moment, Bashir thought he was safe. “I just hadn't realized you were such a pervert, Julian.” Bashir opened his mouth to retort, but he was cut off by a new voice joining their conversation.

“I could have told you that.” Bashir turned around to see Garak smirking. Jadzia laughed, her composure completely gone. O'Brien muttered something under his breath, but there was still a bit of amusement in his expression.

_It is nice to see them getting along,_ Bashir thought.  _If only it wasn't at my expense._

“Tell me, Julian.” Garak's eyes sparkled with mischievous delight. “If this Riker were assigned to the station would I be with him instead?”

Bashir decided to ignore the question, electing instead to turn and glare at Jadzia. “See what you've done?” Jadzia's expression showed absolutely no remorse.

It was O'Brien who decided to respond to Garak's question. “I don't think I can picture Commander Riker with a Cardassian,” he mused, before adding, “...No offense.”

Garak's smile shifted into one that was pleasant and understanding. “None taken. Most Cardassians would find it hard to imagine one of us with a human.”

“Is it taboo?” O'Brien asked, curious.

Garak shrugged. “Yes and no. Anything non-Cardassian is frowned upon. One has to care a great deal to actually pursue an inter-species relationship.” He gave Bashir an openly fond glance, which was returned in kind.

“Aw, Chief,” Jadzia cooed, “that means you really caught Gilora's eye.”

Garak turned his attention back to O'Brien. “A Cardassian woman pursued you, Chief?”

“You're right, Julian, we should stop talking about this,” O'Brien said, turning to his only ally.

“It does seem you've all gotten off topic. I believe Lt. Dax was looking for information on Worf,” Garak smoothly redirected the conversation, earning a look of thanks from O'Brien.

Bashir looked at Garak suspiciously. “Just how long have you been listening, Garak?”

Garak smirked and ran a critical glance across Bashir's outfit. “Long enough to agree that you do need better tailored costumes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture the Federation, especially Starfleet, having little handbooks for dealing with other species (kind of like the handbooks for American servicemen in France and the UK from WWII). They've got some general info about the culture, the food, and obvious faux pas to avoid (like, hey Cardassians flirt by arguing, be aware of that). In this AU, Bashir took notes on Riker's experiences and submitted them for addition to the relevant handbooks. All for science, of course. ;)


	20. Medicine and Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x04 - Hippocratic Oath  
> 4x06 - Rejoined  
> 4x07 - Starship Down

As Garak found himself running to the infirmary, he saw Chief O’Brien leaving it slowly and looking downtrodden. The engineer’s eyes were tired and his brow was furrowed, he didn’t look like the hero that he currently was to Garak, but that didn’t make it less true.

“Chief!” Garak ran up to the man who looked surprised to see that there were other people aware of him. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

“You’re welcome.” O’Brien gave a tired smile. “I’d rather lose him as a friend then he lose his life.” The man nodded as if validating his own statement. Garak tilted his head in confusion.

“Lose him as a friend?” Miles O’Brien had just saved Julian from a planet full of Jem’Hadar going through withdrawal and their relationship wasn’t secure? “Forgive me, Chief, but surely he can’t be angry with the results of your actions?”

“It’ll be okay.” O’Brien sighed, looking pained. “He’s a good man. He…” O’Brien looked as though he was searching for the words. “He cares too much. I suppose that flaw will allow him to forgive me eventually.”

“I see…” Garak said cautiously. This was getting dangerously close to a sentimental conversation with a man he was hardly friends with. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” He nodded, signaling that O’Brien was safe to go home to his wife. “But truly, you have my gratitude.” O’Brien returned the nod with a small, weary smile and left. Garak entered the infirmary.

“Julian?” he said carefully as he saw the man sitting at the computer with complete seriousness.

“Elim…” Bashir sighed as he turned and saw Garak. He stood up and embraced him. Garak wrapped his arms around him just a bit tighter than usual, reminding himself that the man was truly here.

“You’re safe now.” Garak said soothingly, only to have Bashir give an exasperated sigh in response and pull away.

“I was hardly in great danger there.” He shook his head and went back to his computer. “I could have _helped_ them, Garak. They needed help.”

“The Jem’Hadar?”

“Yes, the Jem’Hadar!” Bashir snapped. “Goran’Agar and his men were trying to free themselves and what do we do? We abandon them and leave them to die!” He placed his tired head in his hands and breathed heavily. Garak placed a soothing hand on Bashir’s back. “We’re no better than the Founders if we choose who lives and who dies.”

“Julian…” Garak tried to wrap his head around that argument. “They were dangerous and there’s no real reason to believe you could have done anything more.” Bashir swatted Garak’s hand away and looked up with fury in his eyes.

“And so there’s no point in trying, is that it?” He shook his head and looked disgusted. “Because a person had this drug forced upon them and there's no guarantee of a cure, I should just give up?” Garak obviously knew that Bashir was likening the situation to his wire. “I can’t do that, Elim…” Now the doctor seemed more exhausted than angry. He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, looking absolutely defeated. Garak dropped to his knees and calmly ran his hand up and down Bashir’s leg. Making it clear that this touch was only meant to be a comfort.

“You may feel that you can’t, but you have to sometimes.” Garak said before placing his head into Bashir’s lap. “You won’t be able to save everyone, but you can save more people if you’re alive.” Bashir allowed his hand to stroke Garak’s hair.

“I feel like you’re just being selfish.” His voice was still a tad bitter, but he wasn’t spiteful anymore.

“One of us has to be, my dear.”

–

“Doctor, are you here to pick up something for your date tonight?” Garak teased when Bashir walked into his shop unexpectedly. Bashir let out an exhausted sigh with a guilty smile.

“Unfortunately I’m going to have to cancel that date.” He looked at Garak, clearly anticipating a negative response to the news.

“Medical emergency?” Garak said skeptically.

“I wish.” Bashir groaned. “I’m apparently chaperoning Jadzia and her former wife. Remember the Trill laws I told you about?” Garak found himself grinning with excitement.

“So they want to spend time with one another but it’d be suspicious if they were alone.” Garak couldn’t stop nodding. “Yes, I understand that completely.” He walked over to Bashir who was looking utterly confused and embraced his shoulders. “Well then I suppose it’s a double-date!”

–

The evening would have been absolutely boring without Garak there. It was just Jadzia and Lenara talking about past lives, reminiscing about the way the other would act, and of course those insufferable inside jokes only married couples could have. With Garak there, Bashir had someone he could direct conversation toward. Someone whom he could say, “my, that sounds like the time you…” to and whatnot. Of course, he _could_ make conversation and be engaged if it weren’t for the fact that Garak insisted on touching him under the table and keeping him thoroughly distracted. No, the evening wasn’t boring, it was far too stimulating.

“How romantic!” Garak said happily at something the women had just described. How the Cardassian was able to seem so engaged in the conversation while he was tormenting Bashir so thoroughly, was a mystery.

“Torias could be that way sometimes.” Lenara said sheepishly with a small smile directed at Jadzia who blushed in reply.

“Nilani brought that out in him.” Jadzia said while leaning in closer to Lenara ever so slightly.

Meanwhile, Garak moved his hand up Bashir’s thigh and began stroking his fingers in small circles just left of his crotch. It was absolutely infuriating.

“Oh, please!” Lenara giggled. “You can’t expect me to forget the time…” Julian was sure it was a fascinating story. Absolutely enthralling in fact. But unfortunately he was unable to focus because Garak was beginning to brazenly slip his hand under his trousers. He glanced over at his lover who appeared to only be interested in the conversation at the table, but his ridges flushed in a way that told a different story. Bashir quickly glanced around Quark’s, which he felt was suitably deserted as to not cause to much trouble if Lenara and Jadzia were left alone at this point.

“Well!” Bashir stood up quite quickly, throwing Garak’s hand away. “If you’ll excuse us, Garak and I really should retire to bed.” It was practically an order as he glared down at the man who was still sitting and batting his lashes innocently. Lenara and Jadzia both had small shocked smiles on their faces as they glanced at Garak.

“It seems Julian is in need of my services as a tailor.” Garak stood up and put his hand on the small of Bashir’s back. “His pants seem rather tight in one area.” Bashir’s face turned bright red as he grabbed Garak’s hand and began pulling him away. “Enjoy your evening, ladies!” Garak gleefully shouted at they exited.

–

“You’re absolutely terrible.” Bashir scolded once they were in his quarters. Despite his irritable expression, he had Garak against the wall and was already working on their clothing. “Was that just revenge for attempting to cancel our date?” He kissed Garak’s neck and then let out a little huff of breath against it. No, he was definitely not angry.

“Mm, I didn’t expect the conversation to be so…” Garak felt a chill run through him as Julian removed his shirt. “Romantic.” Bashir stopped what he was doing and gave Garak a confused look.

“Romantic?”

“Yes, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t say anything to interrupt.” Garak gave a small smile. “You have a tendency to babble, my dear.” Bashir gave an annoyed glance but then looked thoughtful.

“I suppose it is romantic. That they’re getting dangerously close to each other despite societal expectations.” Bashir stroked his beard with his hand. “Though I didn’t think you were a fan of forbidden love stories. You couldn’t stand _Romeo and Juliet_.”

“ _That_ is an abomination, not a love story.” Garak rolled his eyes. “Dax could have gone on leave to avoid this encounter, but she understood that her duty to DS9 comes first. However, we can obviously tell that she is infatuated with Lenara Kahn and can hardly resist her desires.” Garak sighed wistfully. “The two of them know the risks and are holding back but their eyes alone speak volumes.”

“You…” Bashir wore a grin that was positively fond. “You never cease to amaze me.” Bashir chuckled as he removed his own top. “How long have you been a hopeless romantic?”

“My dear…” Garak said with a more controlled and sinister seeming purr. “No Cardassian would be unmoved by this story.” Bashir looked down at Garak’s pants with a grin.

“Ah, so you are moved?” He pressed his chest against Garak’s. “I was beginning to fear it was just me.”

It took them some time to get to the bed, but that was only due to the slow and sensual kisses that interrupted every step closer to it they tried to take. Before Bashir drifted off after a passionate evening, Garak embraced him from behind and began leaving small kisses down his warm back. In-between each kiss he would murmur “I love you.” Until he decided to rest his head in the crux of Bashir’s shoulder and nuzzle him gently. Bashir let out a small laugh.

“You’re pathetic…” The human breathed with a smile, the insult transforming into an endearment. “And yet I love you too.”

–

Jadzia Dax entered Garak’s shop looking troubled. She had her hands firmly behind her back, was biting her lip, and had her brow completely furrowed. One might think she was absolutely dumbfounded by the outfitted mannequin she was pretending to study, but Garak hardly believed she was here to play fashion critic.

“May I help you, Commander?” He said politely while making his way over to her. She gave an apologetic smile.

“You can call me by my name, Garak.” A face as lovely as hers could easily start a war.

“Jadzia or Dax?” It was an innocent question. He genuinely wasn’t sure which she preferred. He hadn’t meant for her to look so troubled at that.

“It’s hard to tell us apart, isn’t it?” She sighed and then walked past him to look at where he’d hung a few accessory options. “Is this for sale?” She was feeling a sheer magenta scarf that had a subtle golden rose overlay. It was a lovely pick and of course Lt. Dax could pull off anything, but she was looking at it as if trying to picture something far away.

“It is indeed.” Garak said. “Is this for you or is it…” He let his voice grow softer. “A gift?” Still holding the scarf, Jadzia turned toward him with a guilty look, as though she’d been caught.

“I love her, Garak.” It was almost a plea.

“I know.” He gave her a small smile. “You’ve fallen victim to one of life’s worst dangers.”

“Societal taboos?”

“No, love.” Garak was careful to make sure his smile didn’t turn into one of pity. “Love is the most grand and painful experience one can endure.” He looked away for a moment before making very direct eye contact. “But you _can_ endure it.”

“What do you think I should do, Garak?” There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Honestly.” It was a safe bet on her part to believe that Garak was in favor of this love, but there was information she was lacking.

“You have to let her go.” He said firmly. Garak knew this was painful to hear, but he needed to say it. Her eyes widened in surprise but then her face revealed that there was a part of her that knew he was right. “You have a duty to your world, to Dax. You can’t turn your back on it all now.” He paused for a moment, wondering how much he was willing to reveal. “In the moment that you're making the choice, you might feel like love can overcome any obstacle, can make up for any loss, but in my experience that's not the case. Julian is wonderful and I adore him, but there are things I've lost by being exiled that he can't replace. I resent my exile. If it had been due to my relationship with Julian, I may have resented him and my own weakness."

“I see…” Jadzia took a deep breath, almost fearful.

“I did resent him.” Garak looked away. “I did resent my own weakness as well. I abused a drug and him.” He walked toward his work table as if there was something fascinating there to hold his attention. “I did all that without it being justified. Can you imagine how I’d have been if it were justified?”

“I wouldn’t resent Lenara or Kahn for my exile. It would be my choice.” Dax said firmly.

“Yes, it would be.” Garak sighed before looking back at her. “But you will only be punished if she makes the same choice. A tortured mind will warp that into her fault.” Jadzia Dax studied Garak’s face for a second before shaking her head and lifting up the scarf.

“I’d like to purchase this.” She said with a slight coldness. Not rage or disdain, just signaling that this conversation was over.

“Of course.” He nodded as he got out the thumb scanner. “That is your choice.”

–

As Garak lay there, holding Bashir close to him, he couldn’t help but squeeze a bit tighter and kiss the man’s shoulder. Love was in the air and Garak had definitely inhaled too much of it. He’d been very openly affectionate lately, he was becoming a complete slave to his desire for Bashir. This was the type of mood he swore he would never let himself get in, no matter how lovely and charming his companion was, because now he was lost in passion.

“I’m not going anywhere, Elim.” Bashir rolled over to face Garak and smiled. He lightly put his hand on Garak’s cheek and studied his eyes. “I love you.”

“I have been rather clingy lately.” Garak sighed as he nuzzled the warm hand.

“What happened between Kahn and Dax won’t happen with us, okay?” Bashir’s smile was meant to be comforting and kind but Garak merely laughed. Bashir rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you find Lenara leaving romantic? You saw Jadzia at Quark’s hardly saying a word! It was tragic!”

“Mm, yes it was.” Garak smiled wistfully as he held Bashir closer. “But a sacrifice like that… It’s truly beautiful.” Garak sighed, remembering it all. “Lenara Kahn left wearing a scarf I sold Dax. She still loves her, even though she knew she couldn’t stay.”

“Love should conquer all.” Bashir said sternly.

“Maybe it should, Doctor.” Garak ran his fingers through his lover’s hair, smiling at the bits of gray by the temples. “But it doesn’t.” Bashir stopped Garak’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“You are _not_ allowed to sacrifice yourself for me.” It was a scolding tone with a small smile.

“It would be romantic, Julian.” Garak said with a smile.

“You are so Cardassian, I swear you must bleed yamok sauce.” Bashir laughed and kissed Garak’s mouth. “But really, I don’t want to lose you.” Bashir licked his lips and looked pained. “Not again.” Garak’s heart both melted and broke by the look he received and he found himself clutching Bashir close against his chest.

“Never.” He whispered. “I’m a tailor, not a romantic.”

–

Garak and Odo had entered into a routine of walking the promenade casually each evening while Bashir was on away missions. Often they would comment on the many suspicious characters frequenting Quark’s and would challenge each other to make deductions on what business exactly they had on the station. It was likely Odo was engaging him out of pity, but Garak could justify the indulgence by pretending that he was keeping his wits sharp. As they walked the upper level, the wormhole opening made itself obvious.

The bright and vibrant sight once filled the whole station with wonder and excitement as they thought of what great discoveries they were now destined to make. How glorious to be living to near the unknown. However, once the Dominion threat entered the Alpha Quadrant, unknown was met with terrible fear. But this vision was only beautiful in Garak’s eyes at this moment. As the Defiant exited that spinning light, Garak knew Julian was home.

“Ah, back from their talks with the Karemma.” Odo stated as he paused to view along with Garak.

“Would you like to go and greet them?” Garak asked as if he had no desire to himself. Odo gave a skeptical smile.

“Would you?” He said as the two already changed their direction to head to the airlock.

It didn’t take long for a worse for wear looking Julian to practically tackle Garak to the ground with a hug. Whatever the cause, the mission had not gone smoothly. Sisko looked as though he’d been recently healed of some ill, not that he was struggling in any way, but Major Kira especially seemed to watch his movements carefully and looked ready to support him if he staggered. There were certainly an abundance of injuries which selfishly made Garak’s heart sink as he was sure that meant Julian would be on duty all night.

“Are you needed in the infirmary?” He asked with a sad smile as he looked at his lover’s deep brown eyes.

“Not this time.” Julian shook his head. “Take me home, Garak.”

“I’d be delighted.” Garak said, and put his hand on the small of Julian’s back to guide him. “Should I ask how it all went?” He cautiously began as they walked.

“Julian!” Dax called out before they’d gotten around the corner. “Darts later?” She looked apologetically at Garak. “Doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“Of course! But maybe tomorrow?” Julian smiled.

“Anytime.” Jadzia grinned with a nod before she left them.

Garak didn’t say anything as they walked to Julian’s quarters and Julian remained silent as well. Still, he took Garak’s hand and squeezed it tight with a warm look.

“Can I get you anything?” Garak finally said when Julian had collapsed onto his couch. Julian gave him an amused side-eye.

“Just you.” He patted the spot next to him which Garak took as his seat. “I could get used to you greeting me at the airlock, you know.” Julian placed a hand on Garak’s knee. “I don’t mind the teasing, but whenever you’re openly fond…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he planted a soft kiss on Garak’s lips.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I was merely accompanying the constable.” Garak shook his head with a smile. “I had actually forgotten you’d been off the station.” Julian let out a small chuckle.

“Mm, I love you.” Julian breathed as he kissed Garak again. “You’re what I’ve been missing.” Julian embraced Garak and began showering him with little kisses and Garak hated pulling himself away but he felt it was necessary.

“Julian…” He said, looking directly into his eyes. “What happened?”

“I’m fine, Elim.” Julian sighed. “Really, it was just rough. But I’m okay.”

“Julian…” Garak said with his eyes never wavering. Julian exhaled again.

“The Jem’Hadar attacked.” He shrugged. “It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“But you didn’t get away as easily this time.” Garak pointed out. “Did you…” Garak worried the topic would be too dark. “Did you lose someone?”

“I almost did.” Julian said, pulling Garak into his hold again.

“Benjamin Sisko?” He asked. Julian shook his head.

“No, well, yes, but I wasn’t aware of that until after he was alright.” He turned over so that he could be leaning his back against Garak’s chest. “It was Jadzia.”

Julian then went on to explain that instead of ensuring his own safety, he sealed himself off into a breached section of the Defiant in order to stay with Dax.

“…why would you do something so reckless?” Garak tried to keep the judgment out of his voice, but he failed.

“You know me, Elim. I couldn’t leave her!” He sounded a bit irritated to be defending his choice so Garak began running his fingers through Julian’s hair, this seemed to relax him. “If it’s to save people I care about, I’m willing to take the risk of dying.”

“I believe you previously forbade me from ever sacrificing myself for you.” Garak pointed out. “And now you beg my understanding in you doing the same kind of thing.” Julian turned to glare at Garak. “It merits analysis, dear.”

“Would you rather I let Jadzia die?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.” Garak shook his head. “I only rather that you do not cause yourself harm in the process of saving others.”

“So would I, but I don’t always have that luxury.” Julian said, grinding his teeth. He then exhaled again and seemed to release some of the tension in him. “Jadzia is a close friend. I knew Curzon, but my acquaintance with him is nothing compared to my closeness with her.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m quite sure that ‘old man’ will outlive you, Old Man.” Garak placed a small kiss on the top of Julian’s head.

“I hope you’re right.” He laughed. “I don’t know if I could survive meeting another Dax.” Julian stopped the hand going through his hair and squeezed it tight before staring back. “But I would outlive a thousand of them if you were with me the whole time.”

“That sounds exhausting.” Garak smiled before he kissed Julian softly. “If we’re going to make it through, I suggest we go to bed.”

 


	21. Our Man Bashir - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x10 - Our Man Bashir

Bashir was somewhat surprised to receive a datarod from Earth, but then he saw that it was from his friend Felix. He smiled to himself and opened the accompanying message.

_Hey JB,  
Sorry this took so long; I decided to take the opportunity to basically revamp the whole program. I've included notes on what has changed that I'm sure you won't read. The program is more customizable: love interests can be tweaked in personality now as well as aesthetics, and you can adjust the amount of romance needed to trigger events down to just a single passionate kiss. (I made that change just for you, JB. Seriously, just for you. None of my other beta testers will need this setting.) I also made some other tweaks, modifications, and fixes that you won't notice, but trust me, they're important. I hope your tuxedo is in good shape because MI6 needs you! (Unless dating a real spy takes all the fun out of playing one.)_

_Go save the world (and let me know what you think),  
Felix_

Bashir toyed with the datarod in his hand and glanced over at the closet where his tuxedo hung. He had hours yet before Garak would close up his shop, which meant he had plenty of time to run through an adventure or two.

–

Nearly a week later, Bashir grinned as he hit Falcon with a champagne cork. He'd forgotten how much fun this program was. Everything he did was effortlessly more exciting, everyone he encountered found him charming and suave, and he pulled off miraculous stunts with ease. It wasn't that he didn't feel fulfilled in his normal life, but there was something strangely relaxing about knowing that he would always be able to succeed, always save the world, and always look incredible while doing it.

“Lot of kick for a forty five Dom,” he quipped.

“Thank you, Mister. Mister?”

“Bashir,” he introduced himself. “Julian Bashir.”

The beautiful woman, Caprice, smiled expectantly at him. He'd lowered the requirement for seduction as far as the program would allow, but Felix had made keeping some mandatory. After all, removing the romance aspect completely would be like removing the death traps. Bashir pulled Caprice close. What kind of secret agent would he be if he didn't find out everything she knew? They'd only just started to kiss when the sound of sarcastic applause interrupted them.

“Who's that?” Caprice asked.

Bashir looked up and immediately felt his stomach drop. “Elim,” he said absently. “Excuse me.” He walked briskly to where Garak stood, not even sparing a glance for the hologram woman he abandoned.

“Nice tux,” Bashir complimented awkwardly as Garak finally stopped clapping. Bashir did mean it. Garak's outfit was, naturally, cut to flatter his figure, although the collar's human-style stopped at an awkward point on his neck.

“Thank you,” Garak replied, not flattered and clearly a little cross.

“What are you doing here?” Bashir asked uncomfortably. “Breaking into a holosuite during someone's program _is_ illegal.”

Garak rolled his eyes dramatically. “Why don't you call Odo and have me arrested since you're obviously  _busy_ .” Bashir winced. He hadn't been  _neglecting_ Garak, per se, but he  _had_ chosen to spend time that would normally have been spent with Garak in the holosuite instead.

“Elim, I'm sorry,” he rushed to apologize.

“No, no,” Garak dismissed in a tone that made it clear that nothing was forgiven. “But you haven't told anyone, not even me, what the program _is_.”

Bashir's gaze fell to the floor as his face flushed. “It's embarrassing and childish,” he muttered.

“Well you're clearly already embarrassed and not telling me at this point would be quite childish,” Garak countered.

Bashir weighed his options and quickly came to a decision. “Why don't you join me?” he offered with a nervous smile. “I'm happy to explain everything, though you might find it a bit trite.”

Garak's expression was surprised, but pleasantly so, however there was still a hint of wariness in his eyes. Garak still mistrusted his personal happiness.

“Shouldn't we go after your _lovely companion?”_ he asked suspiciously. Bashir turned to look, he hadn't even noticed her leaving.

He shrugged. “Or we could go to my apartment and I could explain while the program generates a new scenario.” He smiled in what he hoped came across as an inviting manner and gave Garak an earnest look.

Garak considered the offer for a moment, deliberately leaving Bashir waiting. “Very well,” he accepted. Bashir gave him a grin, then took him by the hand and led him out of the nightclub.

–

Bashir explained the basics of the program during the brief transition scene, but he left his character's exact identity a mystery for Garak to unravel. They entered the penthouse apartment and Garak swiftly began asking questions, digging for information.

“Mister Bashir, I didn't expect you home so soon,” Mona greeted as she entered. Bashir smiled at her, thankful he'd switched her outfit from the incredibly revealing dress to a more practical, though still genre-appropriate, pantsuit.

“I decided to leave Paris a little early,” he explained. “Allow me to introduce my companion, Elim Garak. Elim, this is my personal valet, Mona Luvsitt.” Garak gave him a side glance.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mona said to Garak before turning her attention back to Bashir. “Would you like to change into something more comfortable?”

“That would be perfect. See if we can find Elim something as well,” he said, patting his lover's shoulder.

She smiled knowingly at Bashir. “I'll see what I can do. Would you like me to put this away?” Bashir nodded and she walked away.

“Any guesses?” Bashir whispered the question in Garak's ear.

Garak turned toward Bashir, watching Mona reveal a stash of hidden weapons out of the corner of his eye. “Is she your valet or your personal assassin?”

“Valet,” Bashir answered. “She's very capable. She speaks seven languages, has degrees in biology, chemistry, physics, can fly anything from a jet to a helicopter and makes an excellent martini.” Garak took this in, clearly analyzing the information.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Mona asked, interrupting them. There was more than a hint of a suggestion in her tone, as was expected for her character. Garak glared at her, wrapping an arm possessively around Bashir's waist.

“I'll let you know,” Bashir answered lightly, not turning his attention from Garak.

“So far your character seems to be some kind of rich dilettante with a fascination for women and weapons,” Garak said with just a touch of distaste.

Bashir smiled nervously at him, ready to reveal the mystery. “Actually, my character is far more disreputable.” He paused, partially for dramatic effect and partially because he wasn't sure how Garak would respond to the information. “I'm a spy.”

Garak blinked, his expression unreadable. “A spy?” he asked flatly. “And you live here?” There was a bemused smile playing around his lips that let Bashir know he was at least somewhat off the hook. Bashir smiled in relief and explained how everything his character owned, and even his valet, had been provided by the government.

“I think I joined the wrong intelligence service,” Garak commented dryly. “Although that doesn't explain the young woman you were kissing earlier.” His tone was teasing, though there was a hint of sharpness to it making it clear that Garak was not as at ease as he'd like to pretend.

Bashir let out a sigh. He knew this would come up eventually. “Staple of the genre, I'm afraid. I've adjusted the settings for romance and seduction as low as I can, but I can't remove it completely. It would be like removing the gadgets or the fight scenes.” He shrugged awkwardly.

Garak made a non-committal noise, evidently appeased but not entirely satisfied. It was at this moment that Mona reappeared with an outfit for each of them.

–

One costume change later, Garak examined his new outfit in the mirror. “You have an excellent eye, Miss,” he commended Mona, after taking a quick moment to admire the dashing figure Bashir cut in his light gray suit. He toyed with his shirt's turtleneck. “However, I'm not too sure about the collar.”

Bashir walked over to him, having finished adjusting his tie. “It's perfect,” he said, pressing a kiss to Garak's neck just above his collar. In the mirror, Garak spotted Mona smiling victoriously before slipping out with their tuxedos.

Garak scoffed. “I'm sure you say that to everyone in this program.” But there was a smile on his lips as he said it.

“Only the ones I'm madly in love with,” Bashir purred. Garak made use of Bashir's tie and pulled him in for a kiss. Bashir's arms came up to wrap around Garak's waist as the kiss ended.

“My dear _Agent_ Bashir, you'll have to do better than that to compromise a member of the Obsidian Order,” Garak protested teasingly.

Bashir smiled. “Oh, I think I can handle that.” He pressed a button causing the bar to rotate, revealing a bed, but to the surprise of both men it was already occupied by Major Kira.

“Julian,” she said in outrageous Russian accent. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Nerys, _what_ _are you doing here?”_ Bashir hissed, completely shocked.

Garak recovered quickly enough to give his lover a fierce glare. “Surely, it's obvious. Isn't it, Major?”

“Colonel, actually,” she corrected. “Colonel Anastasia Komananov, KGB.” Bashir showed a flicker of recognition at the name, but his expression only grew more puzzled. She stood up and walked towards Bashir, causing him to retreat a few steps. “Oh, Julian, I never thought I'd see you alive again. Not after you fell out of that dirigible over Iceland.”

Bashir frowned. “I had a parachute, and there was a submarine waiting for me. But how do you know about that? Have you been downloading my holosuite programs?”

“Oh Julian, you are not well. Let's lie down,” she suggested, making her way back to the bed, the innuendo dripping from her words. Bashir flicked a desperate look at Garak, whose expression had shifted from irritated to skeptical.

“I must say, Major Kira's certainly throwing herself into the role,” he commented.

“Nerys, _please_ ,” Bashir pleaded. Kira was his friend after all. Surely, now that she'd had her fun, probably at Jadzia's prompting, she would drop the act. Especially with Garak present.

Instead Kira looked between the two of them, puzzled. “Who is this Major Nerys Kira?”

“Kira Nerys, actually,” Bashir corrected absently while he exchanged a look with Garak.

“Perhaps this isn't Major Kira after all,” Garak suggested.

Bashir agreed and tried resetting the character's image and then, when that didn't work, attempting to freeze the program, only to be informed that wasn't possible due to a station-wide emergency. He glanced at Garak, who raised an eye ridge, before calling Ops. A quick conversation with Eddington determined that the transporter patterns of the rest of the senior staff existed only in the holosuite database. Bashir and Garak couldn't leave the holosuite for fear that it would disrupt things and cause the patterns to be lost forever.

Bashir sat on the nearest perch, which happened to be the bed, looking up at Garak helplessly as he let out a sigh. Anastasia took this as an invitation to lean her body against his back.

“Oh, Julian, you are so tense,” she purred. Bashir could feel the bed shifting as she moved behind him. “I wish I could relax you, but I am here on business.” She handed him a manila folder. He started flipping through the folder as she explained the artificial earthquakes that were the program's latest global threat. He barely paid attention to the papers he was skimming until he got to a photograph. It was of Jadzia Dax wearing large glasses and a lab coat, her hair pulled up in a bun.

Anastasia leaned over to see what had grabbed his attention. “I didn't think she was your type,” she commented with a touch of jealousy.

Bashir turned to face her. “You said she's been kidnapped.”

Garak let out a huff. “Julian, this is hardly the time to be playing games.”

“Look.” Bashir handed him the photograph. Garak's mouth fell open into an 'o'. Bashir stood up and lead him out of range of Anastasia's hearing. “If Honey Bare is killed, the computer will erase her character from its program. Now since the program thinks that Dax is Honey Bare...”

“The computer would actually be erasing Commander Dax's pattern,” Garak finished. They turned back to Anastasia to form a plan when the doors swung open, revealing Mona with their tuxedos.

“I'll be right with you, Mona,” Bashir said. Rather than reply, Mona fell to the ground dead, the knife in her back was the obvious cause. Three thugs entered the room, one of whom, Garak and Bashir recognized.

“Chief,” Garak greeted.

“No,” Bashir corrected. “It's Falcon.” They bantered back and forth until Anastasia sprang forward.

“Wait! Wait, please. Let us have one last kiss,” she pleaded.

“Why not? I've always been a romantic at heart,” Falcon replied, granting her request. Bashir could hear Garak scoff, but he ignored him and focused on Anastasia. There was a reason she'd made the suggestion. She whispered the plan at him just before they kissed. His hand slid from her jawline to her ear, removing her earring.

“All right, Bashir. That's enough,” Falcon ordered.

They pulled apart and Bashir quickly winked at Garak before tossing the earring at Falcon. Using the confusion the explosion created, each of them took down one of the thugs.

“Interesting jewelry,” Garak commented slyly as he slid next to Bashir.

“It's a genre staple,” Bashir explained, but his expression quickly turned concerned as he looked at Garak. “Elim, you're bleeding.” The wound was superficial, but the problem was that it shouldn't have happened in the first place.

“The holosuite safeties must be off,” Garak stated. Bashir was about to reply when a quip from Anastasia drew his attention.

“Time to clip this bird's wings.”

Bashir stopped her from firing and was trying to come up with a reason for keeping Falcon alive when Garak approached them.

“I wouldn't dismiss her idea so quickly, my dear,” he said grimly.

“But that's _Miles_ ,” Bashir argued quickly. He knew that Garak's life and training made him place less value on individual lives, but this was _O'Brien._ Garak _knew_ him.

“No. As you pointed out, he's Falcon, a hired assassin who's going to do everything he can to kill you.” Garak stepped closer, cupping Bashir's cheek in his hand. He whispered, “And without the holosuite safeties in place, he may do just that. Julian-”

“What do you want me to do, Elim?” Bashir interrupted, pulling his face out of Garak's hand. “Kill him?”

“I want you to stop treating this like a game where everything's going to turn out alright in the end. Real spies have to make hard choices. You want to save Dax? Fine. But you may not have the luxury of saving everyone. Eventually you may have to let someone die.” He captured Bashir's hand, pulling it up between them and tangling their fingers together in Cardassian fashion. “I don't want you to sacrifice yourself, Julian.” Bashir's eyes glanced at their hands and Garak knew that he'd made his point, even if Bashir didn't agree with it.

“I'll deal with that situation if and when it happens,” Bashir deflected. Garak let out a disappointed sigh, but Bashir held firm. “In the meantime, we have to find Dax.” Garak nodded a concession. They crossed back to Anastasia for more information about the current situation of Professor Honey Bare.

–

They grabbed the tuxedos from where they lay next to the late Mona Luvsitt and made their way to a private jet, one provided by Anastasia since Bashir's pilot had a knife in her back.

After a flight that was just long enough for them to change their suits, they entered The Club Ingenue, Bashir in the middle with a companion on each arm. They were sent to a baccarat table where Worf introduced himself as Duchamps, an associate of Doctor Noah.

With a charming smile Bashir introduced himself as Patrick Merriweather and his companions as his wife Anastasia and his husband Elim. The characters wouldn't notice anything unusual about this set up, they were programmed with modern views, but he felt Garak's hand twitch on his shoulder.

They spun their story about Patrick Merriweather being one of the world's leading geologists. Which led to Duchamps explaining that a meeting could be arranged. For a price. Bashir smirked. It looked like he would have to win a few rounds of baccarat.

It didn't take long for the pile of money to move from Duchamps's side of the table to Bashir's.

“You're quite a baccarat player, Mister Merriweather,” Duchamps complimented, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Baccarat and geology are my life,” Bashir quipped. “Now then, Mister Duchamps, I believe we've met your conditions. When do we leave?”

“Right now.” Duchamps blew a powder into their faces and the trio lost consciousness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, poor Mona Luvsitt, wing-woman extraordinaire.
> 
> Felix was going to be a bigger character. He and Julian were going to talk and he was going to meet Garak and then it didn't flow at all in the story so his role got cut down to just the note. Ah well, such is writing.


	22. Our Man Bashir - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x10 - Our Man Bashir

Bashir awoke to the sound of muttered Russian and a disparaging comment on the décor assuring him that both of his companions were alright. Of course they were. They wouldn't really be in danger until the death trap.

“Where are we?” he asked absently, he had his suspicions based on genre conventions, but there was no point in voicing them yet.

“Welcome to Paradise, Mister Merriweather. I believe you've been looking for me.” Bashir turned to see Benjamin Sisko and felt his heart sink. The task of keeping everyone alive had just become even more complicated. “My name is Hippocrates Noah.”

He bantered back and forth with Noah, letting him lay out the details of his plan, as the villains in these stories couldn't help but do. He had to stall for time. This genre favored endings with high body counts. Noah pressed a button and revealed a control panel with a map of the world. Jadzia entered and Bashir bit back a groan. Of _course_ Honey Bare was actually working with Doctor Noah.

“Pity you won't be able to join us,” Noah said, finishing another monologue.

“Are you revoking my invitation?” Bashir asked. _This is definitely the lead-in to the death trap._

“I intend to do more than that, Mister Bashir. Not only have I brought the greatest minds to my mountain retreat, but I have also hired the greatest protection that money can buy. I believe you already know my newest employee.”

It was Falcon. Of course it was.

–

Bashir and Garak were taken to an underground cavern and handcuffed to the support struts of a laser. Doctor Noah gloated a bit before leaving them to die.

“So what do we do now?” Garak asked.

“I'm thinking,” Bashir replied. He hadn't been given any new gadgetry so that ruled out that option. He also hadn't actually had a chance to interact with Honey Bare.

“Think faster,” Garak urged. “Julian, while dying next to you would be romantic, I'd rather not do so chained to a twentieth century laser. I think it's time to end-”

“Oh _no_ ,” Bashir moaned, cutting Garak off.

“I hope that means you've come to your senses,” Garak said irritably.

“I know how to get us out of this,” Bashir said, twisting around to face Garak as best he could. “But you're not going to like it.”

Garak frowned, but was distracted from replying by the sound of footsteps. “Who's that?”

“Elim, I am _so_ sorry,” Bashir said before turning his head back around just in time to watch Honey Bare enter and check on some equipment. “What a waste,” Bashir called out to her. “That no one can see what a beautiful woman you are.”

“ _That's_ your plan?” Garak hissed.

“ _Shut up,”_ Bashir hissed back. He returned his focus to Honey Bare, hoping his expression was at least somewhat charming. “Noah only wants you for your mind. He can't appreciate the woman inside you. Honey, would you grant me one last request and take off those glasses?” Bashir tried to ignore Garak's disgusted groaning in the background. He forced himself to focus on his objective.

Honey removed her glasses and smiled shyly at him. “Like this?”

“You know, your hair would look so much better if it were free.” _I have to push on. This is our only chance._ Bashir smiled as Honey fulfilled his request. “There,” he said, feigning satisfaction. “That's the last thing I want to remember before I die.” He leaned back against the support strut, closing his eyes as if to preserve the image in his mind. Really he was just bracing himself for the kiss and sarcastic comment he knew would be coming from Honey and Garak respectively.

“Thank you,” Honey said tenderly. She started to walk away, Bashir could hear her footsteps, then she rushed back to him and kissed him passionately. More importantly, Bashir felt her slip the cool metal key into his hand.

Surprisingly, Garak remained silent through the kiss and as Honey left. It wasn't until she was gone that he asked, “What did that accomplish?”

“This.” Bashir unlocked his handcuffs and hurried to Garak's side. He pressed a quick kiss to Garak's cheek as he freed his lover.

“Kiss the girl, get the key. They never taught me that in the Obsidian Order,” Garak quipped. Bashir smiled sheepishly and grabbed Garak's newly released hand.

“Come on!” he exclaimed as he pulled Garak into a tunnel.

–

The cave was shaking dramatically around them. Bashir stopped to assemble his hidden pistol.

“We have to get to the control room,” he explained. “If this adventure is like the others, either Komananov or Honey Bare will be killed by Doctor Noah. The other's supposed to end up with me. We have to make sure that both of them survive.”

“You expect to take on Noah and his men with that?” Garak asked incredulously.

Bashir smiled in what he hoped came across as a confident manner. “Elim, I know what I'm doing. Trust me.”

“No!” Garak exclaimed. “It's too dangerous. Julian, it's time to cut our losses.”

Bashir's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected any protests. “We can't do that. Kira or Dax might-”

“Yes, they might be killed, and that is unfortunate. But there comes a point when the danger is too great and the only reasonable course of action is to quit!”

“Quit?” Bashir echoed, looking as if he'd been punched.

“Yes,” Garak confirmed fiercely.

“Is that what they taught you in the Obsidian Order? To give up when things get tough?” Bashir challenged, trying obviously to goad Garak into going along with his plan.

“As a matter of fact, they did,” Garak replied. He was trying to present a cool image, but Bashir knew him too well and could see that there were definitely powerful emotions roiling beneath the surface. “That's why I've managed to stay alive while most of my colleagues are dead. Because I know when to walk away. And that time is now.”

“Elim, we can't-” Bashir started, but Garak wasn't willing to listen.

“I won't let you sacrifice us because of some damned hero complex when the situation is already lost,” Garak declared as he stormed away from Bashir. “As long as we survive, it will be worth the cost. Computer!”

“Don't,” Bashir said softly, but forcefully, the single word cutting through the air and freezing Garak in his tracks. Garak turned to see Bashir pointing his pistol directly at him, his eyes sharp and with a cold focus Garak had very rarely seen, but never this intense and never aimed at him.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” It didn't seem possible. Bashir's eyes were usually so caring and tender and full of love.

“If you call for the exit, you might kill Ben and the others,” Bashir said carefully, steadily, “and I'm not prepared to risk that.”

“I'm afraid I don't believe you'll pull that trigger.” Garak's words were spoken just as carefully, but his mind was whirling, rapidly analyzing this rarely seen side of his lover. _Even if Julian didn't love me, he's too kind-hearted. He won't shoot me._

Bashir's expression hardened into a cold mask. “I wouldn't be so sure about that.”

“It's time to face reality, Julian. You can't save everyone, and sometimes you have to make choices where you'll actually live with the consequences.” Garak turned away from Bashir, unwilling to watch his lover's expression. “Computer-”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud bang, a sharp burst of pain in his neck that caused him to crumple against the cave wall, and a hiss that escaped from Garak's mouth.

Instantly Bashir was at his side, examining the the damage, but his expression was still cool.

“That was awfully close,” Garak commented, trying to present a collected front. “What if you'd killed me?”

A hint of sadness appeared in Bashir's eyes, breaking through the facade. “Then I'd be heartbroken.”

Garak stared silently at him.  _Julian, you are entrancing,_ he thought.

“Now we have to get to the control room. Are you coming or not?” Bashir's expression was serious, commanding.

A smile that came out more sultry than the smirk it was meant to be appeared on Garak's face. “Well, who am I to question Julian Bashir, secret agent? Lead on.”

–

_Having a partner makes these fight scenes so much easier,_ Bashir mused as Garak took down Falcon while he held Doctor Noah at gunpoint. He freed Anastasia only to have to keep her from shooting Noah. He was so distracted by her that he didn't notice the door opening until it was too late.

“Making a mistake,” Duchamps said, announcing his arrival. Bashir slowly turned his head to see Worf holding a gun to Garak's head. Garak's expression was carefully neutral, his eyes watching his lover.

“Elim,” Bashir whispered involuntarily. It was Eddington's voice coming through on Bashir's communicator that reminded him of his mission. He just had to stall for a few more minutes. “Understood,” he muttered out of habit. That drew Doctor Noah's attention.

“What is it you understand, Mister Bashir? That you should've killed me when you had the chance? I agree. But then again, I suppose it wouldn't be very heroic. I, on the other hand, have no pretensions about the idea of being a hero.”

_Stall!_ he thought. “Wait!” he exclaimed. “Maybe I'm tired of being a hero. Maybe I've thought over what you said and decided that you're absolutely right.”

“About what?”

Bashir found it very strange to see Benjamin Sisko sizing him up suspiciously with no hint of teasing mirth or friendly curiosity in his eyes.

“Everything,” Bashir answered desperately reaching for ways to keep Noah's thoughts on his words. He fell on parroting the man's own monologue back at him. “The decadence of the world, the need for order. The more I think about it, the more I realize that your way may be the only way.”

Noah crossed to the large red button that would activate his doomsday device, but he hesitated before pressing it. “You expect me to believe that? You are Julian Bashir. A man who has spent his entire life dedicated to fighting against-”

“Yes, but all that's about to end now, isn't it? You're going to destroy this world and start a new one. What's the point in sacrificing myself when the situation is already lost? Can you see the sense in that?”

“No,” Noah answered, clearly not expecting this kind of philosophical debate.

“No,” Bashir repeated. “I'm an intelligence agent, and if there's any one thing I've learned, it is that sometimes you have to make sacrifices and actually live with the consequences of your actions. How do you think I've managed to stay alive so long when all of my compatriots are dead? It's because I know that you can't always save everyone. Sometimes you have to walk away.”

Noah considered this for a moment, the program trying to figure out how best to respond to something that was so out of line with genre conventions. “You make a very interesting argument, Mister Bashir. But I'm afraid I've been looking forward to killing you for a long time.”

“You need to move beyond that. You need to start thinking about your new world order,” Bashir pressed on, strolling over to the control console. “You may even need someone like me.”

“If you think that by going over there you are going to destroy my control console, you're wasting your time.”

“I don't intend to destroy your console, Doctor. I intend to use it.” Bashir pressed the button, activating the doomsday device. After only a few more tense seconds, the others beamed out, leaving only Bashir and Garak in the mountain hideaway.

“Eddington to Bashir. We've got them, Doctor. You can leave the holosuite now.”

“Thank you,” Bashir replied before letting out an exhausted sigh. He walked over to Garak, whose expression was once again unreadable. “Elim, I'm so glad you're-” He was cut off by Garak pulling him into a frantic kiss.

When there was finally a break in the kiss, Bashir seized the opportunity. “I...I'm so sorry,” he murmured.

“Mmm,” Garak replied, nuzzling his neck. “Don't be.”

“Elim, I _shot_ you.” Bashir pushed back so he could actually see Garak's face.

“You did,” Garak agreed.

“You could have _died_.” It was unlikely, Bashir had carefully calculated that shot, but he couldn't perfectly predict everything. If Garak had suddenly changed direction, that shot wouldn't have been a mere graze. Bashir cupped Garak's cheek with his hand.

Garak smirked up at him. “Yes, and you were certainly aware of that...” Garak let out a sigh.

Bashir tilted Garak's head to get a better look at the damage he'd caused. The wound had stopped bleeding but there was still a small bloodstain stark against the white collar of Garak's shirt. “I really can't apologize enough, I just-”  
“Julian,” Garak interrupted sharply, cutting off Bashir's rambling apology. He gently grabbed Bashir's chin, forcing the other man to look into his eyes. “I'm not upset. I'm pleased.”

“Pleased?” Bashir asked, puzzled.

“ _Pleased,”_ Garak purred. He wrapped his free arm around Bashir's waist and pulled their hips together as he brought them back into another crushing kiss. Bashir let out a quiet whimper as Garak broke the kiss. “I believe your Hong Kong apartment had a bed we could use.” Garak quickly undid Bashir's bow tie and the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Elim, I can't,” Bashir said sadly, pushing Garak away from his neck. “My shift starts soon. I only really have time for a quick sonic shower and to change into uniform.”

“Hmm,” Garak replied. “When does your shift end?” He lightly stroked Bashir's neck, causing the other man to shudder.

“ _Late,”_ Bashir groaned. Garak pulled his hand away, immediately ceasing his teasing.

“You should go, my dear.”

Bashir let out a sigh. “I'll see what I can do,” he said, leading them out of the holosuite.

–

Garak returned to his quarters and removed his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, hanging them in his closet. He unbuttoned his shirt and moved it so that he could get a better view of his gunshot wound in the mirror. It was only a graze and had long since stopped bleeding, but it had hurt quite a bit when it happened, and Garak had never had a high tolerance for pain. The dark red color of his blood contrasted vividly against the gray of his scales, making the wound look more dramatic than it was.  _No wonder Julian was concerned._

As if on cue, the door chime rang.

“It's Julian.”

“Enter,” Garak called. “I was just admiring your handiwork, my dear.” Bashir crossed to his side, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

“A good thing I brought this, then?” Bashir pulled a dermal regenerator out of his jacket pocket. Garak tilted his head to allow Bashir better access to the wound as the doctor got to work repairing the damage he'd caused.

“Not that I'm complaining, but shouldn't you be at work?” Garak asked.

“I'm still on-call,” Bashir explained. “It's been a slow day in the infirmary and I just finished dealing with a station crisis.” Bashir pulled the regenerator away and looked over the spot where the wound had been. He pressed a quick kiss to the fresh scales. “There. I'm sorry about-” Garak silenced him with a glare in the mirror.

“Julian, I already told you that I wasn't upset,” Garak reminded him. “If anything, you're the one in need of comforting.”

Bashir blushed. “I don't like having to hurt people. I'm a doctor, not a soldier.”

Garak turned, facing him properly. “Some would argue that as a member of Starfleet, you are both. You certainly have the training, my dear.” Bashir glanced away uncomfortably. “But you are clearly not in the mood for that debate.” Garak stroked Bashir's cheek. “Perhaps we should just stop talking altogether?”

That drew a smile out of Bashir as Garak crashed their lips together in a passionate kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Julian~  
> (We love reading your comments btw, even if we don't always respond.)


	23. Relocation and Bar Associaton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x16 - Bar Association

“ _So,”_ Jadzia began in the tone that signaled she was digging for information. “When are you moving in with Garak?”

“ _W-what?”_ Bashir sputtered.

“You've been dating for a year now, longer if you count your previous relationship, but you're still in separate quarters.” She raised an eyebrow. “I know you don't like commitment, Julian, but this is silly.”

“I do _not_ have a problem with commitment,” he huffed. Jadzia simply tilted her head. Bashir sighed. “Just because most of my relationships since my marriage ended have been flings, does not mean I'm incapable of something stronger. I've been serving on starships and moving around often. _This_ has been my longest posting.”

Jadzia smiled. “Okay, okay, but that doesn't answer the question.”

Bashir shrugged. “It's never come up.”

“Which means Garak never brought it up and you let it slip by,” Jadzia accused. Bashir blushed and glanced away. _“Julian.”_

“I...I don't want to pressure him,” Bashir justified. “I don't want him to feel like he _has_ to move in to _appease_ me.”

Jadzia considered this, clearly unconvinced. “I think you're just avoiding the issue.” When Bashir didn't meet her gaze, she pressed on. “Do you not feel like you two are ready for that?”

“No, not exactly. I mean, we spend nearly every night together.”

“Just sleeping or more?” Jadzia's tone was lightly teasing, trying to coax answers out of Bashir.

Bashir smiled softly to himself. “...It's not always sex. We just like to be together.” He finally raised his eyes to meet hers.

Jadzia smirked. “ _So_ , there's an obvious way to spend more time together and make it easier to do.”

“He values his privacy,” Bashir replied quickly, his hands twisting awkwardly together.

“But if you don't offer, you won't know which he prefers: his privacy or your company.” Bashir didn't answer, so Jadzia decided to take a different approach. “Let me ask you this, Julian: do you want to move in with him?”

“I would like that, yes.”

“Then why not see if he would too?” Jadzia asked as she placed a comforting arm around his shoulder. “Julian. You're overthinking this. Just _ask_ him if he'd like to move in together. He's not going to leave you over the question. He loves you.”

Bashir let out a nervous chuckle. “You're right, of course. I just...I don't want to ruin it.”

Jadzia laughed. “You aren't going to ruin anything.” She smiled at him. “It's going to be fine.”

–

“Julian, why have you decided to ruin your perfectly good face?” Garak sighed as he stood near the force field separating him from his lover. Bashir was standing as close as he could to the field as well, in order to give them the illusion of privacy. There wasn’t much to be had when you were sharing a cell with two other people however.

“The black eye wasn’t my idea.” He cast a quick glare back at Miles and Worf, who both averted their gaze. “Thank you for visiting though.” Bashir gave a weak smile.

“I don’t understand why you have to stay the night. It’s your day off, and I was looking forward to dinner.” Garak was actually pouting. It was one thing to have a date canceled, it was a whole other thing to have it canceled because Bashir was in a holding cell. “You didn’t even do anything wrong, you’re clearly the victim here.”

“Ben can’t risk looking as if he’s playing favorites.” Bashir sighed. “I am sorry about dinner.”

“You’re going to make it up to me.” Garak smirked and Bashir gave a small flirtatious smile.

“Of course.”

“In a very specific way.” Garak added with mischief in his eyes. Bashir then looked a tad wary. “I choose what you wear to our rescheduled date.” Bashir rolled his eyes.

“As long as you promise it’ll be nothing too extravagant.” Bashir did know that Garak made him look better, but it was not like he was comfortable wearing suits everywhere, sometimes he missed his festive orange holiday trousers.

“Oh, please,” Garak dismissed before changing his voice into a low purr. “It’s not as if you’ll be wearing it long.” Bashir blushed and looked back at Miles and Worf. Miles was trying his best to pretend as if he hadn’t heard everything, whereas Worf was looking away with his nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Elim!” Bashir scolded in a hushed whisper.

Garak rolled his eyes. “Good day, gentlemen. Please try not to rough up my lover any more than you already have.” Garak said curtly, addressing Worf and Miles before nodding to Bashir and exiting.

Bashir slowly turned around, embarrassed at Garak’s sarcastic attitude. He gave a weak, “what are you going to do?” type smile and let out a nervous chuckle.

“You’ve got your hands full with that one.” Miles said with a laugh.

“One wonders why you bother.” Worf grumbled, still looking away.

“Hey, the man’s in love, there’s no accounting for taste.” Miles joked, clearly trying to ease the tension. “I don’t care who you pursue as long as it’s not Keiko.”

“Blast, and here I was thinking I’d have a chance with her.”Bashir smiled, appreciative of Miles’s defense. He leaned against the wall and wished this night would just end so he could get out of this awkward environment.

–

As they lay in bed following their rescheduled date, Bashir wrapped himself around Garak, something he often did after they made love. He let out a contented sigh and murmured, “I love you, Elim.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Garak teased fondly.

“Oh, I was just replying to how many times you said you loved me a few moments ago,” Bashir shot back. “Between the moaning that is.”

“Mm, the most unfortunate thing for both of us is that it's true.”

“It's not that unfortunate if we get to be together,” Bashir purred before lightly nuzzling Garak's neck. Garak let out a contented sigh. “... Elim?”

“Yes, dear?” Garak replied lazily.

“Would you like to stay? I mean, of course you can stay, you're always welcome to stay, you know that, but what I mean is do you want to maybe move in? With me?” Bashir lifted his head to smile nervously at Garak.

Garak's expression was puzzled. “You actually _want_ that?”

“Only if you do,” Bashir hedged, biting his lip.

“You're willing to let me live with you?” Garak frowned in concern. “You know what that means, right? You'll have so much less space from me. We'll see each other every single day, even if it's just first thing in the morning and at night, we will always see one another.”

Bashir grinned like a man in love. “What you just described sounds perfect.”

Garak's frown dissolved into a look of amazement. “You really want me to be that much a part of your life?”

“I love you, Elim. Therefore you're already the most important person in my life.” Garak's mouth fell open in an unguarded expression of awe. Bashir caressed Garak's cheek, then leaned in for a kiss. Garak met him eagerly, then took advantage of Bashir's focus to roll them so that he was on top. He broke the kiss with a smirk.

“Well, as you seem completely unable to guard yourself against dangerous characters, I think it would be best that I begin living with you,” Garak said, “if only to protect you from the villains you'll undoubtedly invite into your room.”

“You're not allowed to stay up all night, keeping guard.” Bashir's commanding tone and expression were subverted by his tender smile.

“I move in and you give me a bed time?”

“No, but you have to go to bed at _some_ time,” Bashir stated lightly. “Doctor's orders.” Garak let himself be pulled in for another kiss.

“I will have no problem going to bed if you're in it,” he promised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there's going to be something other than fluff and light hurt/comfort in this fic again.


	24. For the Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x22 - For the Cause

“Garak, we’re supposed to be here supporting Nerys.” Bashir grumbled as Garak’s focus was again on the young half-Cardassian woman further away in the stands.

“You’re supporting her. Major Kira hardly wants my endorsement.” Garak’s gaze didn’t waver.

“What does she expect? She's the only Cardassian woman on this station. She must know she's bound to attract some attention.”

“Some, yes.” Bashir shot Garak a jealous glare. “Yours, no.” He focused his attention back to the game, trying to ignore the fact that the man he loved was hell-bent on focusing on an attractive young woman instead of him or their date. His eyes returned to the court just in time to see Kira get tripped. “Oh come on! That was a foul!” Bashir shouted. He’d hoped that his passion for the game would draw Garak’s attention away from Ziyal, but it didn’t.

“We should say hello after the game.” Garak was now blatantly craning his neck so he could see past some of the excited hands that had shot up in the air due to the last move.

“ _Why_ would we do that?” Bashir rolled his eyes.

“Fine. You don’t have to be polite. _I_ will say hello to her.” Garak was now looking at Bashir like a challenge.

“Absolutely not.” Bashir challenged back, looking directly into Garak’s eyes.

“Julian, are you suspecting that I have some ulterior motive?” Now Garak was clearly amused and Bashir felt as if he’d been caught.

“Elim, that’s Gul Dukat’s daughter.” He said, ignoring the all too true implication that he was jealous. “Not to mention she’s being protected by Kira, whom you yourself said isn’t your biggest fan. Why stir up—”

“Yes! Well played! Brava, Major!” Garak shouted, giving a standing ovation along with the rest of the crowd. Bashir stood up and began applauding as well just to blend in.

“What happened?”

“A brilliant move on the part of the Major.” Garak said gleefully before giving Bashir a smug side-eye. “You should have been paying attention, my dear.”

–

“So I’m not allowed to socialize with anyone without your explicit consent?” Garak laughed as Bashir essentially dragged him through the promenade.

“I never said that.” Bashir snapped before nearly pushing them both in front of Garak’s shop.

“I didn’t think I was working today?” Garak asked as he began unlocking the door, curious as to what Bashir had in mind.

“No, you and I both actually have a day off at the same time.” Bashir marched inside when the door opened. “We started out with an absolutely lovely and leisurely morning where we didn’t get out of bed but we didn’t go back to sleep either.”

“I remember. I was there.” Garak smiled as he followed Bashir inside.

“Then afterwards you suggested that we could each use a proper hot water shower, you also suggested we conserve water and shower together.” Now a small smile appeared on Bashir’s lips at the memory.

“As I said, this recap is hardly necessary.”

“Oh, but I was beginning to think you’d forgotten!” Bashir huffed and crossed his arms. “As you had no trouble forgetting _me_ when someone better came along.”

“I’m sorry?” Garak asked as he looked in his peeved lover’s eyes. “Are you truly jealous of Ziyal?” Bashir clicked his tongue and looked away. “Oh, my dear, really?” Garak laughed.

“It’s not funny.” Bashir grimaced. “What am I supposed to think when all you do is talk about her when we’re on our date?”

“You’re supposed to think rationally.” Garak scoffed. “Not accuse me of being disloyal.”

“You are a known traitor.” Bashir bit back. Garak widened his eyes at the venom in Bashir, this was certainly a low blow. Bashir seemed to take in the expression and softened slightly. “But really, Elim, are you interested in her?” He hung his head slightly and glanced at Garak.

“Interest, yes.” Garak said while approaching Bashir. “Attraction, no.” He put a soothing hand on Bashir’s arm. “How could you even believe that?”

“She’s Cardassian.” Bashir shifted his weight uncomfortably. “And she’s closer in age to you than I am.”

“All true statements,” Garak sighed before cupping Bashir’s face with his hand. “But it’s also true that I find you beautiful even if you are an old human.” He brushed his hand over the gray at Bashir’s temples. “I love you, Julian.” Bashir’s body relaxed into the long and slow kiss that Garak initiated.

“I love you too.” Bashir said with sad eyes. “It just made me nervous, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize.” Garak beamed. “I enjoy seeing this side of you.”

“Well, I don’t enjoy showing it.” Bashir gave a weak smile. “I know I should trust you, I am sorry.”

“I just told you not to apologize.” Garak tutted. “And you honestly _shouldn’t_ trust me.” Garak wrapped his arms around Bashir’s waist. “Now why did you bring us to my shop? Were you hoping for a private fitting?”

“I thought we could use some privacy in case things got loud.” Bashir bit his lip.

“My! That is quite the tempting promise!” Garak pressed their chests together and Bashir blushed.

“I meant in case I started yelling at you.” He looked away. “For wanting to leave me for Ziyal.” Garak blinked in surprise.

“You really thought that was a possibility?” Bashir didn’t make eye contact. “You must think me a great slut.” Bashir looked back with a smirk.

“A man can hope.”

“Doctor, I am a Cardassian attempting to court you with decency and respect.” Garak said with a false of air of superiority.

“So, a prude?” Bashir laughed.

“My options are to be called a slut or a prude?” Garak shook his head. “It’s hard to determine which insult is preferable.”

“Well, it depends on what behavior you want to engage in.” Bashir licked his lips. “For example, a prude would definitely _not_ ravish me in the fitting room right now.”

“And what would a slut do?” Garak said, lightly stroking Bashir’s cheek.

“You tell me.”

–

The next day, Garak met Bashir for lunch at their usual table.

“I had an interesting run-in with Ziyal this morning,” Garak began.

Bashir froze. His eyes darted up to quickly scan Garak's face and then darted away. “Oh?” he asked, clearly trying to keep his tone light. Just because Bashir rationally knew that Garak wasn't attracted to Ziyal, didn't mean he wasn't still harboring an irrational fear.

“Either she truly has no plans to hurt me or she is a far better liar than I ever was.” Garak smiled.

“Why would she want to hurt you?”

“She _is_ Gul Dukat's daughter, my dear. I did have a hand in her grandfather's downfall, something Dukat has never forgiven me for. If I was in her position and wanted to curry Dukat's favor, killing his long-standing enemy would be the obvious move.” Garak sighed. “Surely you've read enough Cardassian literature by now that you have a basic grasp on how family feuding works.”

Bashir nodded reluctantly. “I suppose I just don't understand why she'd feel loyal to Dukat.” He shrugged.

“He _is_ her father, and he _did_ lose quite a bit of standing, as well as his wife and children, when he chose not to kill her,” Garak explained. “She has quite a bit to feel grateful to him for.”

A dark expression flitted briefly across Bashir's face. “Children shouldn't have to feel grateful to their parents. The parents should support them, even if the children aren't exactly what they wanted.” He frowned. “Otherwise the parents weren't fit in the first place.”

“A noble sentiment,” Garak replied. “One that seems influenced by personal experience.” He raised an eye ridge, trying to silently prompt more information from his lover. Bashir almost never mentioned his family.

Bashir gave a sheepish grin. “Well, I'm in Starfleet, light years away from my parents with no children of my own. You can draw your own conclusions, _but_ my opinions on families in Starfleet _are_ well-documented.”

“So you don't think you'd be a fit parent, and you don't believe your parents were fit either.” Garak would have continued but he was stopped by the clatter of Bashir's fork as it slipped from his hand and fell against his plate.

Bashir, for his part, quickly glanced down and retrieved the utensil. “You forget, I'm a Starfleet officer. If I had children they'd have to be ready to be dragged across the quadrant at a moment's notice. It's not an arrangement I'd feel comfortable with.”

Garak raised an eye ridge. “But you chose to leave Starfleet and spent several years married and settled on Earth.” He gave Bashir a quizzical look, puzzled by Bashir's sudden deflection to well-trodden ground. “Surely if you planned to have children, you would have had them then.”

“Palis didn't want children either. It would have delayed her career.” A distant smile appeared on Bashir's face as he reminisced. “We were both as married to our work as to each other.”

“An unusual arrangement by Cardassian standards.” Garak smiled before declaring, “After the State, family is the most important part of a Cardassian's life.”

Bashir paused, absently playing with his food. “Do you want children?” He looked up, carefully watching Garak's reaction.

Garak turned thoughtful, laying his fork on his plate. “I've never considered it before,” he answered quietly. “It wasn't an option for someone in my...profession.” He twisted his lips into a self-deprecating smile. Bashir raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Garak's tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “Considering that I'm an exile, you're a member of Starfleet, and we live near a potential war zone, our situation would have to drastically change for either of us to feel comfortable seriously considering the question of children.”

Bashir nodded in agreement and the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

–

When Ziyal had invited Garak to join her in a Cardassian sauna program in the holosuite, he'd accepted, curious about what she was thinking. Then, as time passed he found himself dwelling more and more on when he'd reminded Bashir of how Cardassian family feuding worked, until by that evening he was fairly convinced that Ziyal had invited him to a trap.

He'd told Bashir about Ziyal's invitation, but not his suspicions, hoping that some of the doctor's earlier jealousy would remain and he could easily justify canceling the meeting with Ziyal. Unfortunately for Garak's plan, Bashir was clearly trying to make up for his previous behavior because he simply smiled and told Garak that he was free to socialize with whomever he wanted. Garak could see the hint of insecurity in Bashir's eyes as he'd said it.

This left Garak still trying to determine how best to cancel as he made adjustments to Quark's suit.

He recognized the Major's distinct combative walk as soon as she entered the shop.

“Garak, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.

“Of course, Major,” he said, nodding at her. He turned back to Quark. “Excuse me.” He crossed over to her. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Kira's response was to slam him into the wall. She clearly had no interest in platitudes and pleasantries. “Listen closely. I don't know what kind of sick game it is you're playing with Ziyal, but it'd better stop and it better stop right now,” she ordered.

“I can assure you, Major, I have no-” Garak tried to reassure her, but Kira was having none of it.

“I don't want to hear any of your lies. You forget, I saw firsthand what you did to Julian years ago. Now, that girl is here under my protection, and I swear if you do anything to hurt her, I will make you regret it. Is that clear?”

Garak could see the protectiveness and anger in Kira's eyes. She was truly concerned that Garak was planning to hurt Ziyal, and considering how he had deeply hurt Doctor Bashir and then had toyed with the man, keeping that wound fresh, he could understand her concern. Seeing that he had no choice, Garak replied, “As Tabalian glass.”

“Good.” With her threat delivered Kira left.

Garak, as casually as he could, made his way back to Quark.

“You told her,” Quark commented sarcastically. “These pants are about a meter too long.” Garak smiled and knelt to adjust them. “So, are you canceling your date with Ziyal?” Quark asked.

“It's not a date,” Garak said firmly. “I'm quite happy with Doctor Bashir.”

“Sure, you prefer him over the young Cardassian woman,” Quark replied, his tone implying exactly how little he believed that statement.

Garak gave Quark a sharp glance. “I was going to cancel. I've had visions of Ziyal presenting my head to her father as a birthday gift.”

“That's a little paranoid, wouldn't you say?” Quark asked.

“Paranoid is what they call people who imagine threats against their life. I have threats against my life. But after my little chat with Major Kira, I feel much better.”

“You do?”

“Isn't it obvious? If Ziyal planned to kill me, Kira would not be trying to warn me away. On the contrary, the good Major would also welcome my untimely demise, and do nothing to interfere.”

“Unless that's part of the plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. Kira acts like she doesn't want you to go so you'll feel everything's okay, and then you go anyway. Nah, it's too complicated.”

“Of course...”

–

“How did it go?” Bashir asked when Garak entered his quarters, laying aside the PADD he'd been attempting to read.

Garak smiled and made his way towards the couch. “Well, as you can see, I'm not dead,” he replied, drawing a chuckle from Bashir, who caught Garak's wrist and pressed a kiss to the inside of his palm before releasing him again. Garak sat down and leaned against his lover.

“You're warm!” Bashir exclaimed in surprise.

“Mmm,” Garak hummed. “A sauna will do that.” Bashir silently wrapped his arms loosely around Garak and kissed the back of his head. Garak let out a contented sigh. “We talked about Cardassia, mostly. She was very curious.”

“You miss Cardassia,” Bashir stated without judgment. “You wish you could go back.”

Garak chose not to lie. It would serve no purpose here, Bashir knew him too well. “I love you dearly, but yes, I do miss it.”

“I think,” Bashir said carefully, “that you should spend more time with Ziyal.”

Garak turned to look at him, an amused look on his face. “A few days ago you didn't want me to speak with her at all.”

Bashir ducked his head sheepishly, laying his forehead against Garak's shoulder. “And it was jealous and silly of me. But you should have friends besides me and Odo, and if spending time with her makes you happy, you should do it. I can deal with my own insecurities.”

Garak pressed a kiss to the top of Bashir's head. “What do you have to be insecure about? You are a handsome and brilliant man. And if this is about your age, let me reassure you, from a Cardassian viewpoint your age is an asset, not a drawback.”

Bashir let out a sigh and they sat together in silence for a moment.

“Ben is in a rough place,” Bashir stated, changing the subject as he straightened up and pulled Garak closer.

“Mmm.”

“He's taking Eddington's betrayal very hard. And then there's Kasidy...”

Garak nodded. “They seemed quite fond of each other.” That drew a soft chuckle from Bashir.

“Yes, and I'm sure you find it all _quite romantic_.”

Garak turned, so Bashir could see his smile. “I didn't until she returned to the station to give herself up. Otherwise, I would have assumed she was using the Captain. I _am_ pleased to be wrong about that.”

“In some ways, I think that makes it harder for him. It'd be easier if he could just be angry.” Garak considered Bashir's face, trying to determine if that was a jab at how Garak himself had treated Bashir after ending their first relationship, but Bashir's open expression held no malice. As he noticed Garak's focus, his lips quirked upwards into a quick smile.

“He can certainly channel his rage toward Mr. Eddington.”

“He's not alone there,” Bashir said, his expression darkening slightly. “I wish I could throw him in the brig myself.”

Garak raised an eye ridge. “You weren't close to him, were you?”

“No, no.” Bashir's gaze fell. “But when we went to get you and Odo from the Gamma Quadrant...”

“Yes?” Bashir's arms tightened around Garak.

“He sabotaged the Defiant. We obviously got around it, but he did it claiming he had to follow his Starfleet orders. Meanwhile, he was a traitor all along.”

“Ironic,” Garak replied, bemused.

Bashir glared at a spot on the wall as he spoke. _“Cruel._ It wasn't necessary for him to do to maintain his cover, but he still could have left you and Odo to _die.”_

“He is a terrorist, my dear,” Garak dismissed lightly.

“He's _Maquis_. I don't know if he would have done what he did if you weren't Cardassian.”

“That's speculation.”

“It's an educated guess,” Bashir countered, pressing a kiss to Garak's temple.

“My dear, don't feel like you need to protect me from everyone who hates Cardassians,” Garak protested with a smile. “We're not well-loved. I'm afraid it would take up all your time.”

Bashir smiled softly back. “I would make time for you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian is confident until the exact moment that his insecurities pile up and he falls apart.
> 
> IMPORTANT - Since college is starting up again for both of us, we're going to be switching to an every other week update schedule.


	25. The Quickening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x24 - The Quickening

Garak sighed as he tried to come up with work for another late night. He'd already taken care of most of his commissions while Bashir had been in the Gamma Quadrant.

In Garak's opinion, nearly a month separated was more than enough time apart, but upon his return Bashir had holed himself up in the infirmary, desperately trying to create a cure for an engineered disease. The doctor wasn't even leaving the infirmary to sleep as far as Garak could tell, since every time he asked the computer for Doctor Bashir's location it gave the same answer.

The shop door slid open.

“I'm afraid we're-” Garak looked up to see who could possibly be coming by with a fashion crisis at this late hour. “Ah, Captain. I've finished your suit, if that's why you're here.” Garak doubted it was. He'd finished the suit nearly three days early and had planned to send the captain a message about it in the morning.

Sisko smiled. “You know very well it's not.” He strolled over to Garak's work counter. “I was just in the infirmary. I've ordered Julian back to his quarters to sleep.”

Garak busied himself with going over to his rack of finished commissions and looking through them for Sisko's suit. “I'll leave him alone to rest, then,” he said. Honestly this news was a relief, a direct order from his commanding officer was one of the few things Bashir rarely ignored, even in the process of saving lives.

“No,” Sisko replied. Garak turned, startled. “You should go to him. Listen to him or distract him. You know how he can be when he can't save everyone.” Garak nodded mutely.

He pulled Sisko's suit off the rack and crossed back to the counter. “I'll be closing the shop for the night,” he said as he handed the suit to Sisko. “If that's all, Captain?”

Sisko smiled. “That's all,” he confirmed, then he left.

–

Garak walked to Bashir's quarters. While they'd talked about moving in together, completing the application paperwork had gotten delayed by this latest mission. Of course, Garak had the code to his lover's quarters, which he entered instead of announcing his presence.

Bashir was seated on the couch looking at a PADD that no doubt contained his work on the Blight, but what interested Garak was what was held by the doctor's other hand. Cradled loosely to his chest was a small brown furry object. Garak glanced at the shelf where Bashir's childhood toy Kukalaka usually sat and frowned to himself as he found it empty.

The doctor had once explained the purpose of the toy, originally a sort of combination comfort object and constant childhood companion that was now a sentimental keepsake, and Garak knew that Bashir took it off the shelf from time to time, but he'd never witnessed it. Bashir tended to hide things that he felt were considered childish.

“Julian,” Garak said softly, announcing his presence. Bashir's head snapped up, clearly taken off-guard by his lover's arrival. His eyes darted around the room, quickly analyzing exactly what Garak had seen and he clutched Kukalaka tighter. Garak crossed the room, took the PADD from Bashir's hand, and placed it on the table.

“I couldn't save them,” Bashir whispered. “My patients. Ekoria...” Garak sat on the couch and gently placed his hand on Bashir's back.

“You did what you could,” Garak reassured him. “You did more than anyone except you thought possible.” Bashir scoffed. “Julian, I read the report-”  
“I got people killed, Elim!” Bashir exclaimed, drawing away from his lover's touch. “I was arrogant, and I put my interests ahead of my patients, and...” He choked up. “They died because of me! Because I thought I knew better.” Garak pulled Bashir into an embrace. He held him and let Bashir sob on his shoulder. After a few minutes, the sobbing subsided. “I'm sorry,” Bashir mumbled into Garak's tunic.

Garak smiled softly to himself. “It's alright, my dear.” He ran his hands soothingly down Bashir's back. “Maybe we should talk about something else, take your mind off of it?”

Bashir weakly hummed an agreement as he pulled away from Garak. Garak offered what he hoped came across as a reassuring smile as he stood and crossed to the shelf where Bashir kept the only two holo-images that he displayed in his quarters.

“Do you want something from the replicator?” Garak asked. Bashir shook his head. Garak took the two pictures back to the couch. He sat down again and slid his arm around his lover's waist. Bashir let out a sigh and leaned his head against Garak's shoulder. “I've never gotten a chance to ask you about these,” Garak said, handing the pictures over.

Bashir let out a soft chuckle as he looked at the two images. His gaze settled on the one from his wedding. It showed him in his late twenties wearing his dress uniform, beaming at Palis. Her hair was pulled back in an elaborate up-do, and she was wearing an elegant wedding gown.

“My wedding, obviously,” Bashir stated, tapping the picture. “While it didn't work out, we did love each other then.” He sighed. “We still keep in touch from time to time. Palis actually remarried, oh, about ten years ago now.” Garak reached up and began to lightly pet Bashir's hair. “Mmm, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about my ex-wife again.” Garak chuckled as Bashir put that image aside.

The second holo-image showed Bashir, even younger than in the other picture, and another man, both wearing tuxedos, posing back to back. The picture switched between a version where they had serious expressions and one where giddy smiles split their faces. Bashir smiled fondly.

“This is how Felix and I became friends. A theater near Starfleet Academy held an event where they showed every single James Bond film over the course of several months. We lived in the same dorm and wound up walking to the theater together. On the last night of the event, they had a big party and everyone dressed up, hence the tuxes.”

“You do make quite a dashing secret agent,” Garak murmured. Bashir simply let out a sigh. Garak turned to face him. “Let's get you to bed. I'm sure you're exhausted.” Bashir let Garak guide him without resistance, and if Bashir kept Kukalaka with him for the night, Garak didn't comment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garak's obvious distraction is obvious.
> 
> Sorry this chapter was super short, the next few are much longer.


	26. Body Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x25 - Body Parts

“Elim!” Bashir smiled as he ran up the stairs in Quark’s to get to the secluded table that Garak was sitting at with Ziyal. “Hello, Ziyal.” He gave a warm nod as he joined them and gave Garak a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Is Nerys going to be alright?” Ziyal asked, looking worried.

“Yes, both Keiko and Major Kira are absolutely fine. The surgery was a success.” Garak put a proud arm around Bashir’s shoulders.

“We began to worry when you met privately with the Chief and Captain Sisko.” Garak prompted. Bashir sighed.

“'Aye, there’s the rub'” Bashir shook his head with an uncomfortable smile. “I had to transfer the pregnancy from Keiko to Major Kira.” Ziyal gaped and Garak blinked.

“You really should have led with that, dear.” Garak laughed as he took a sip of his kanar.

“It does seem like that would warrant special mention.” Ziyal said, smiling at Garak’s remark. Bashir rolled his eyes.

“Well, I just performed a historic surgery that’s never been done before, saving two lives and an unborn child, excuse me if my storytelling isn’t up to snuff.” He playfully took the kanar from Garak’s hand. “And if anyone needs a drink here, it’s me.” Bashir took a larger gulp than he would have normally for dramatic effect.

“I think Quark is the one who could use the drink.” Ziyal sighed, looking down at the bar’s proprietor.

“Oh?” Bashir said with a smile, wondering what financial mess the Ferengi had gotten himself into this time.

“He’s just announced that he has Dorek Syndrome.” Garak explained. Bashir’s smile faded.

“That’s terminal.” He breathed.

“He says he only has six days to live.” Ziyal sighed, shaking her head. Bashir furrowed his brow.

“Is he sure it’s Dorek? It’s incredibly rare.” Bashir was now watching Quark from afar himself. “Who diagnosed him?”

“A doctor he saw on Ferenginar.” Ziyal pursed her lips in thought. “Do you remember his name, Garak?”

“I believe it was ‘Orpax.’” Ziyal nodded her recognition at the name and Garak continued. “Don’t be offended he didn’t just see you, my dear, it was for some sort of insurance check.”

“Oh, right, the Ferengi have to pay to receive medical care.” Bashir shook his head. “And the more at risk you are, the more they’ll charge you. Nothing like exploitation of the sick to scream Ferengi.”

“You don’t approve of Ferengi traditions much, do you Dr. Bashir?” Ziyal said, amused. She hadn’t taken to calling him “Julian” yet, and he wasn’t sure it would be right to ask her to when he still felt the need to lay claim to Garak every time she was around.

“Rights for the workers, that’s this man’s motto.” Garak chided with a smile. “He was the one who told Rom to start a Union.”

“I merely made a suggestion!” Bashir exclaimed. “There was no violation of the Prime Directive, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Your ‘suggestion’ got you thrown into the brig, my dear.” Garak reminded. Ziyal giggled a little bit as Bashir scowled at his lover. He got a small kiss in response.

“I missed that whole thing, I was fasting with Nerys.” Ziyal said, thoughtful. “A lot of Bajoran rituals include fasting whereas a lot of Cardassian traditions focus heavily on food.”

“Food is life.” Bashir nodded. “Therefore the abundance or lack of it has great significance. It seems the Bajorans and Cardassians chose the opposite ways of acknowledging that.” Bashir thought for a moment. “Bajorans also require less food than Cardassians and Humans to survive, though survival and comfort are very different things.”

“I would try and give some of my rations to the other Cardassians in the Breen camp because of that.” Ziyal agreed. Bashir was so impressed that every once in a while, Ziyal would casually mention the hardships she’d endured but not seem saddened by them. “I wish I knew how to cook.” She added, thoughtfully.

“I’m sure Ben would be happy to teach you.” Bashir grinned. It wasn’t that he was still jealous of Ziyal, he just happened to take joy in her spending time with people other than his boyfriend. Not jealousy. “There’s no one better to teach you.” Ziyal bit her lip pensively.

“I wouldn’t want to bother the captain with that.” Then Bashir had an idea. It was either the most brilliant or idiotic idea he had ever had, but he would go for it.

“Then why not ask Jake?” He suggested happily. “He is also an excellent chef and I know he’d love to spend time with another person his age.” Ziyal seemed to think about that and gave a small smile.

“Perhaps I will.” She then looked back down at Quark and sighed. “I think I’m going to go check on Nerys, see if she needs anything.” She stood up and both Bashir and Garak showed their palms for her to press against with a smile before she left.

“What are you planning, Julian?” Garak asked, turning with a look of skepticism.

“What do you mean?” Bashir smiled innocently.

“Instead of proudly proclaiming your closeness to Benjamin Sisko and promising that you’d talk to him for Ziyal, you suggested she learn to cook from his son instead.” Garak narrowed his eyes. “That’s not like you.” Bashir blushed, he’d been caught.

“I just think they would get along.”

“Jake Sisko gets along with everyone.” Garak dismissed. “You’re attempting to play matchmaker, aren’t you?”

“You can’t deny they would make a good match.” Bashir defended. “You told me she enjoys painting, he’s a writer. They’re both intelligent, positive, and independent people who lack peers of the same species.”

“You want the son of Commander Sisko, the Emissary to the Prophets, and the daughter of Gul Dukat, the former Prefect of Bajor, to begin courting?” Garak was obviously amused and Bashir’s face fell.

“Oh.” He said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t thought of it in _that_ way.”

“Don’t let that stop you!” Garak grinned. “It’s one of the most romantic suggestions you’ve ever had! Two enemies finding that their children fall in love…” Garak smiled wistfully.

“It sounds like you’re describing _Romeo and Juliet_.” Bashir pointed out. Garak put a calming hand on the other man’s thigh.

“Please, don’t ruin this by bringing up that travesty.” Garak shook his head. “Do you want me to help you bring our two young friends together or not?”

“We’re going to be _that_ couple?” Bashir laughed. “The one that tries to force love on other people around them?”

“You put the idea in my head, darling.” Garak kissed Bashir lightly on the lips. “And you know that once I’ve put my mind to something, I’m not easily dissuaded.”

–

“Julian, do you have a moment?” Garak entered the infirmary with a bright smile which was returned ten-fold.

“Absolutely. Jabara, let me know if you need me, I’ll be in my office.” Nurse Jabara nodded and Garak and Bashir made their way to the office. “You’re plotting something.”

“Can you guess what it is?” Garak smirked. Bashir leaned on his desk and thought for a moment.

“There are a few possibilities: you have a scheme for getting Jake and Ziyal together?” Garak’s face didn’t change. “You’ve concocted some elaborate date that is so damningly Cardassian in nature you’re more than excited to tell me about it?” Bashir smiled, Garak shook his head. “Alright, then perhaps it’s something altogether sinister?”

“Not too far off the mark.” Garak applauded. “I’ve been hired for a job.” Bashir furrowed his brow.

“Which job are we referring to?” When Garak merely smiled, Bashir’s eyes widened. “Well, what is it then? Is Ben asking you to get something for the Federation?”

“I would hardly be excited about that.” Garak scoffed. “Quark has hired me to kill him.” Bashir's smile faded.

“Good lord…” Bashir put his hand through his hair. “Why?”

“He’s apparently already auctioned off his remains to Brunt. He’s contractually bound to deliver within six days.” Garak shrugged.

“And since he doesn’t have Dorek syndrome…” Bashir breathed. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

“My dear, if I wanted to be a hired assassin, would my first step really be telling a Federation officer all about it?” Garak laughed. “No, I don’t see what good eliminating Quark would do. It would assuredly get kicked off the station, not to mention I get the distinct feeling you would be very unhappy with me.”

“I’m happy to have a positive influence.” Bashir sighed. “What did Quark say when you turned down the job? You know he might just kill himself now?”

“Oh, I didn’t turn down the job.” Garak smiled. “That’s why I came to you, my dear.” Bashir’s palm slid down his face.

“Do I even want to know what you’re asking for?”

“Probably not.” Garak placed his hand on Bashir’s shoulder with a grin. “But you’ll enjoy giving it to me.”

–

Brunt swaggered into the infirmary to receive his merchandise. Fifty-two vacuum discs of desiccated Quark. He didn’t know that while those discs certainly did contain Quark’s cells, Quark was alive and well. Bashir had been able to take samples from Quark and grow them at an accelerated rate (thanks to Ensign Vixil’Pran’s kind donation of some of his amino acids) and make enough Quark to satisfy the contract.

“To think…” Brunt grinned as he held the discs in his hands. “All that my enemy once was is now reduced to this.”

“Not all of him.” Quark stepped out from the back of the Infirmary so Brunt could see him. Brunt almost broke the discs from dropping them. “You see, I’ve still got quite a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You!” Brunt stammered out with rage. “You violated the contract!”

“He did sell you the merchandise you requested.” Bashir grinned. “All fifty-two discs contain desiccated Quark.” Brunt glared at Bashir.

“It was to be delivered after his _death._ ” He put the discs down angrily. “And, unfortunately, he seems very much alive.”

“True, but this is _after_ his death.” Garak moved over to Bashir. “I ensured he was legally dead for several minutes.” He then shrugged and gave Bashir a fond smile. “Of course, the handsome doctor here was able to revive him.” Bashir gave a flirtatious smile back and Brunt looked at them with disgust.

“Don’t celebrate just yet, Quark.” Brunt said through gritted teeth. “I still want you gone and I have friends in high places.”

“How high can they truly be if they’re Ferengi? Five feet?” Garak scoffed. Bashir covered his laugh with a cough and gave Garak a scolding look.

“Well, you send your friends to the station sometime and I’ll introduce them to mine.” Quark motioned his head toward Bashir and Garak. “When you run a bar you get to know people and develop relationships. A liquidator only makes enemies.” Brunt looked like he was struggling to come up with a response but failed. He huffed and grabbed the discs and stormed off. “Good riddance.” Quark mumbled.

“I must say, I’m surprised he still took the discs.” Garak commented. “Though I suppose he did pay quite a great deal for them.”

“I hope he’s not too disappointed.” Bashir smiled. “I did do an awful lot of lab work on them.” Garak wrapped an arm around Bashir’s waist.

“I know, I didn’t like you putting in the extra hours.” This was better than a date for Bashir and Garak. This was a plot of intrigue where no one got hurt and they were able to flaunt just how clever they were at the end.

“Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen.” Quark nodded, though he seemed uncomfortable by their doting on one another. “Now if you could return the latinum to my account, Garak.”

“But I _did_ kill you.” Garak held up a finger with a smirk. “And that is what you paid me for.” Quark scowled and looked to Bashir.

“Are you seriously condoning this kind of extortion?”

“I’m surprised you disapprove, Quark.” Bashir smiled. “And besides, he’s treating me with the money you gave him.”

“Oh?” Quark grimaced.

“With a date in one of your holosuites. Full catering as well.” Garak grinned. “The price should come to about what you paid me for your execution.”

“I think that’s about right.” Quark nodded slyly and licked his teeth. “Let me know when you want the appointment.” Quark left happily and left the two lying love-birds alone.

“You’re a scoundrel, you know that?” Bashir chided and stroked Garak’s cheek. “A handsome one, but still.”

“Takes one to know one, my dear.”

 


	27. Broken Link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x26 - Broken Link

Garak smiled politely once Bashir came to face him through the energy field. He’d been anticipating his arrival, though he was hardly looking forward to it.

“How did everything go with the Founders, my dear?” He said in an almost sing-song voice.

“Don’t.” Bashir’s brow was furrowed and his face was scrunched up in anger. His eyes were dark with rage, all directed at Garak.

“Don’t what?” Garak smiled. He couldn’t help it. He knew this was only escalating the situation, but what else could he do? Grovel pathetically and still get the same end result of Bashir’s absolute disdain?

“Don’t pretend everything’s fine. Don’t play innocent. Don’t act like you have no idea what you’re doing in the brig.” Bashir practically spat the words.

“Honestly, darling, you can’t be all that surprised to see me here.” Garak dismissed readily. “It’s not as if Starfleet and I have ever been on the best of terms.” Bashir crossed his arms and rolled back his shoulders, clearly not impressed with that explanation.

“You tried to _kill_ us, Elim.”

“I didn’t intend to survive with you gone.” Garak gave a genuine and weak smile. “It’s not as if I’d relish the sacrifice.”

“This isn’t about whatever romantic notions you have about sacrifice or any other bizarre Cardassian cultural issue that isn’t translating!” Bashir shouted and paced slightly away. “You tried to eradicate an entire race as well as people who are your friends!” He raised his arms as if to strangle something, but dropped them helplessly.

“They’re _your_ friends, my dear.” Garak rolled his eyes. Bashir looked at him in confusion and Garak gave one of his patented head tilts. “Don’t mistake me, they’re lovely people that I am rather fond of, but don’t pretend I am a part of that circle.”

“Is that what this is?” Bashir seemed absolutely dumbfounded. “Some misguided jealousy? Another unhealthy cry for attention?”

“Certainly not.” Garak sniffed, offended at the accusation. “You’re making this all too complicated, Julian. I wanted nothing more than to kill all of the Founders. It’s as simple as that.”

“To avenge Tain?”

“Does that really surprise you?” Garak said with a small patronizing smile. Bashir sighed and shook his head.

“Would you have done this whether I was on the surface or not?” He ran a hand down his face, slowing to stroke his beard lightly.

“I would have preferred not.” Garak placed a hand on the field and felt the energy tingle against his skin. “Again, your death is something I hope to avoid for as long as the universe will allow. I _do_ love you, Julian.” He breathed.

“Yes, and you’re quite selfish about it.” Bashir clicked his tongue and looked away.

“Selfish?” Garak blinked.

“Yes, selfish.” Bashir looked directly at him as if he were challenging Garak. “If I hadn’t been on the surface, and you’d gone ahead and committed genocide, what do you think would have happened to me?” Again, Bashir crossed his arms.

“I don’t understand?” He truly didn’t. Garak couldn’t fathom where this line of questioning was going.

“Elim, at best you’d be placed in prison for the rest of your _life_.” Bashir hesitantly placed his hand on the other side of the field where Garak’s was. “We would lose any chance of a life together that we’ve ever had. It’s not as if the odds are already in our favor.” His eyes were wide and pained as he let out an aggravated exhale. “You were doing the one thing I keep telling you to never do. Sacrificing yourself.” He swallowed as if there was a bitter taste in his mouth. “You’re happy to let yourself wallow away in prison or even _die_ as if you and your life don’t matter to anyone.” He looked deeply in Garak’s eyes, his brow still furrowed and his own eyes still pained. “Well, you matter to _me_ and you’re content to throw it all away and leave me behind with a hole in my heart.”

“That…” Garak paused, unsure of what to say, “was not my intention.” Bashir pulled away angrily.

“And what about the others, hmm?” He began pacing around the small space as if he were attempting to stomp the floor to death. “Their lives are simply collateral damage?”

“Julian…”

“You really don’t care that you’d leave Jake Sisko an orphan? That there would never be another Dax? You’re telling me that Odo, a man who has now been rejected by his own people, means absolutely nothing to you as well?” Bashir snapped out each accusation with more harshness than the last. “Do you know who would do something like that, Elim? The Founders! Or, hell, the Borg, or maybe it’s just what you Cardassians are happy to do?” He stopped after that last part and shook his head. “You’re thinking about yourself, how your actions will impact _you_ and leaving the rest of us to choke on the dust you kick up.”

“I’m sorry.” Garak breathed.

“…you are?” Bashir seemed to be in complete shock, his mouth held agape.

“I… hadn’t viewed it in that way.” Garak shook his head and tried to process all the variables he hadn’t considered. “I know that doesn’t make up for what I’ve done, and it doesn’t change the fact that they’ll probably still lock me away for good, but I never meant to hurt you.”

“I’ll talk to Ben.” Bashir sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “See what I can do. You didn’t actually hurt anyone, and, I don’t know, I’m not making any promises.”

“You hardly owe me anything, my dear.” Garak murmured as he looked at the man he loved and yet had hurt so greatly once again.

“It’s not about paying debts or owing favors!” Bashir looked as though he wanted to punch something. “It’s about cleaning up this mess! I’ll be damned if I lose the love of my life just because he happens to be an absolute dunce who hardly deserves me in this moment.” Bashir gave a small smirk, but he was still clearly irritated.

“I… agree with you there.” Garak paused, attempting to understand. “So why are you still claiming to love me?” Bashir rolled his eyes.

“Elim, we have to work on your self-esteem sometime, but I’m hardly in the mood to validate and compliment you after all this.” He sighed again and then looked back at Garak with softer eyes. “I’m going to talk to Ben, I’ll check on you after?”

“I’ll be here.” Garak smiled back at his beloved as he left. He meant it when he said he’d be there, not simply the brig, but that he’d always be where Bashir would have him from that point on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to some angst for a bit. That's the end of Season 4, at least!


	28. Prison Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of Broken Link, Garak serves out his prison sentence.

Bashir headed to the security office, clutching a PADD tightly in his hand. It had taken a few days for the back room that had previously served as Odo's living quarters to be converted into a long-term prison cell. Garak had taken advantage of the delay in his imprisonment to finish up the in-progress commissions at his shop. Bashir had spent the days studiously avoiding his lover.

_Forgiveness,_ Bashir mused, _has to be earned._ And he wasn't quite ready to consider truly forgiving Garak for what he'd done, so he'd decided it would be easier to just avoid Garak until the man's punishment had actually begun.

Odo nodded at him sympathetically as Bashir approached his desk. “I assume you're here for Garak.”

“That's right,” he confirmed.

“Would you like me to let you into the cell?” Odo offered.

Bashir shook his head. “Not today, but I would like to give this to him.” Bashir handed over the PADD.

Odo nodded again. “This way,” he said, leading Bashir into the back room.

Garak had been sitting on the bed with his eyes closed, possibly engaged in some sort of Cardassian meditation. However, at their approach his eyes snapped open.

“Ah, Julian, how kind of you to visit me.”

“Hello, Elim,” Bashir said softly.

Silently, Odo left the two alone.

“I...I brought you a PADD with some books,” Bashir started, awkwardly breaking the silence. “Odo has it.” He shrugged, grateful for the barrier that separated them and kept him from desperately throwing himself at Garak. He had to hold firm, to make it clear to Garak that he disapproved of his actions. “Elim, Tain is dead. You don't have to work for him anymore. I thought you understood that.”

Garak chuckled and shook his head. “My dear, I know very well that I no longer work for him.” He stood and meandered towards the barrier. “But I do still owe him. Tain shaped me into who I was, enabled me to rise up from my station.” Garak tilted his head. “In fact he led me to this station and inadvertently to you. Without Tain we never would have met, and, if by some strange chance we did, I doubt you would have paid much attention to a simple gardener.” Garak smiled slyly at Bashir. “So even if you discount everything else, I will always be grateful to him for that.”

Bashir frowned, but said nothing.

“Julian,” Garak said softly, coming to a stop directly in front of Bashir. “I don't expect you to understand my thinking. You yourself pointed out to me how impulsive and poorly thought out my actions were. I love you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this to us. I will prove myself worthy of you again.” Garak looked his lover in the eye, trying to convey his sincerity.

Bashir raised his hands to cover his face. “Oh, Elim,” he sighed. “You're always worthy of me. I just...I wish we weren't here. Doing this.” He pulled one hand away to gesture vaguely at the barrier as the other hand ran back through his hair.

“I'm sorry,” Garak apologized again. Bashir looked at him carefully, then smiled sadly.

“I know.” He bit his lip as if holding himself back from saying more. “I should go. I'll come by again in a few days.”

Garak smiled back at him. “I'll look forward to it.” Bashir nodded awkwardly then quickly fled the room.

–

“It’s lovely to see you again, my dear.” Garak smiled when Ziyal appeared with Odo. “But truly, don’t feel obligated to keep visiting each day. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Odo gave a curt nod and left the two alone.

“Garak, you can’t expect me to just forget about you while you’re in here.” She frowned. “It’s not like I have many friends on the station.”

“Yes, which is another problem.” Garak said, shaking his head. “You can’t keep limiting yourself to what Cardassians are around. There aren’t exactly many of us.”

“You’re trying to get me to spend time with other people so I don’t spend time with you.” She scowled. “It’s possible for me to do both, you know.”

“Then why don’t you?” Garak countered. Ziyal said nothing. “Aha, and there we have it. Don’t be afraid to socialize. You are half-Bajoran which counts for something, not to mention you’re a lovely young woman who is a pleasure to spend time with.”

“It’s a bit hard…” Ziyal sighed. “Outside of you and Nerys, I don’t feel like I have any real connections.”

“I survived without you for several years on this station.” Garak dismissed. “And I certainly did not have a connection to Major Kira. At least not a positive one.”

“You have Doctor Bashir.” Ziyal said shaking her head. “And through him you have all the connections you could ever want.” Ziyal then bit her lip uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. He’s mad at you, isn’t he?” Garak sighed.

“He’s mad at me out of a sense of obligation rather than what he wants.” Garak sat down and put his hands together. “He doesn’t have the good sense to just hate me.”

“Or maybe you don’t have the good sense to realize you’re worthy of forgiveness.” Ziyal said firmly. “The two of you are in _love_. Would it really be sensible of him to just give up on that?”

“It wasn’t sensible of him to fall in love with me in the first place.” Garak sighed again. “You didn’t see how I treated him before but I—“

“And you’ve apologized for it a thousand times!” Ziyal argued. “You couldn’t be with him before but you tried anyway, making it hard on both of you. It’s not like you were enjoying yourself.” She shook her head. “Honestly, Garak, the entire station knows you’re still beating yourself up about that break up. He forgives you and he loves you. What more can be done?”

“Ziyal, you are very young.” Garak rolled his eyes. “So you still have romantic notions about everything working out for the best, but let me explain something to you: people don’t always want what’s best for them.” Garak stood up again and walked closer to the barrier. “Just because he loves and forgives me doesn’t mean he deserves to settle for someone who puts him through so much strife. The man deserves someone who only makes him smile, who is always able to help him through any troubles.”

“Doesn’t he deserve someone who thinks so highly of him?” Ziyal smiled. Garak said nothing. “Whether you like it or not, you love him and he loves you.” Still, Garak was silent. “I know that ruins your plans of torturing yourself and being miserable all the time, but sometimes life doesn’t go as planned.”

“My dear, no offense, but you’re nineteen.” Garak gave a patronizing smirk. “I don’t think you should be lecturing _me_ about life.”

“And Doctor Bashir is how old?” Ziyal grinned. “By your own argument, he’s the one who knows best in this situation.” Garak smiled.

“Were I unattached, I would find your gift for debate most attractive.” Garak chuckled and Ziyal gave a small blush. “You’re an extraordinary young woman, Ziyal. Don’t forget that.”

“And you’re a good man.” Ziyal nodded. “Don’t _you_ forget that.” She pursed her lips for a moment and sighed. “I really should be going. Professor O’Brien is meeting with me in an hour to make sure I’m understanding my readings.” Garak nodded his consent for her to leave. “I’ll stop by again soon?”

“That’s most kind of you.” Garak smiled as his young friend left.

–

Bashir bit back a sigh as he pushed the food around his plate with his fork. He was sure that Jadzia's latest experiment was fascinating and that Sisko's cooking was amazing as always, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Garak.

“Julian?” Sisko asked. Both he and Jadzia had stopped talking and were looking at Bashir.

“Sorry,” Bashir apologized quickly. “I've been a bit distracted lately.”

“Garak?” Jadzia wore an understanding look. Bashir sheepishly nodded. Sisko and Jadzia exchanged a glance.

“I visited him a few days ago. We talked for a bit, then I left, but I...” Bashir let out a sigh that he'd been holding back all evening. “I wish I was properly angry with him. That would make this easier.”

Jadzia placed a comforting hand on Bashir's arm. “Julian, you don't need to punish him if you're not really mad. He's in prison. You've barely spoken to each other for a week.”

“I don't know, Jadzia,” Bashir said glumly. “I don't want him to think that I'll instantly forgive him for anything.”

“Why don't you focus on the future?” Sisko chimed in.

“Huh?” Bashir asked.

“You said part of why he tried to attack the Founders is because he doesn't think his loss would be a huge sacrifice. Why don't you make it clear how much you care about him? Give him something to look forward to,” Sisko suggested, smiling.

Bashir's expression turned thoughtful. “Well, I suppose we still need to pick out new quarters.”

“Work on that,” Jadzia said, reinforcing Sisko's statement. “And maybe plan something for when he's released. Show him how much you still care about him.”

Still Bashir hesitated. “But...”

“Julian, he's being punished already,” Sisko said. “Stop torturing yourself and remind him that people care about him.”

–

Garak could feel Odo’s eyes on him as he ate. With anyone else, it would be a highly unnerving experience, but somehow Odo’s curiosity almost seemed flattering at times. One could tell that he wanted to know how to emulate or mimic certain behaviors.

“Is that… good?” Odo asked, staring at the meal on Garak’s plate.

“It could use some more yamok sauce if you ask me,” Garak sighed before he smiled, “but I have no real complaints if that's what you mean.” Odo nodded in a way that conveyed a lack of understanding without complete confusion. He stood up and went to the replicator.

“Zabu meat filet with yamok sauce.” Odo ordered and waited as the same dish that Garak was currently eating materialized. Odo took the plate, sat back down across from Garak’s cell and cautiously took a bite. His chewing slowed and his facial expression looked more disheartened with each bite before he finally swallowed loudly. “I'm beginning to think I'll never enjoy the sensation of taste.” Garak gave a sympathetic smile. Odo was truly being a good friend to him during this odd time, especially since he was dealing with such an uncomfortable change himself.

“Just because Cardassian cuisine isn't to your liking, doesn't mean you're a lost cause.” Garak thought to himself that Odo was probably more Bajoran anyway, and considered what his feelings would be on Hasperat. “Also, you may grow to like it. Dr. Bashir did.”

“Yamok sauce?” Garak smirked.

“Cardassians.” Cardassian cuisine in general had been what he was referring to, but the idea of simply saying “Cardassians” scratched the itch of innuendo that Garak felt this conversation needed.

“I don't think the doctor ever disliked Cardassians.” Odo gave his patented “harrumph” and a smile. “You know, Major Kira wasn't very impressed with him at first.”

“Everyone seems fond of Cardassians compared to the good Major.” Garak reminded with caution. Of course Garak couldn’t _blame_ Kira for her views, but the last thing he wanted was for Odo to forget that they weren’t always entirely fair.

“Still,” Odo had that confident smirk that came before he insinuated something or mocked Quark, “didn't he make advances on you once he met you?”

“He initiated an introduction, but you'll recall that it took over a year for us to first get together.” Garak corrected.

“ _You_ were the one halting the process.” Odo scoffed and pointed with his fork. “The man went directly to Ops after meeting you and reported that he liked you.”

“He did?” Garak blinked in disbelief.

“I believe he described you as ' _cute'_ ” That cocky smile somehow grew.

“Where, pray tell, did you get this information?” It couldn’t be true. Garak couldn’t fathom that Julian had been so taken with him after their first meeting.

“He made the mistake of telling Dax.” Odo shrugged before studying Garak’s truly surprised face. “It seems likely everyone knew except you.”

“I see…” Garak let a confused but pleased smile play on his lips. “I wasn't aware.”

“Yes, you were.” Odo said, rolling his eyes. “You had to have been. How else could you have viewed your relationship?” Garak thought back carefully.

“I had found him attractive from the beginning, of course,” He remembered the way the charming Dr. Bashir had swaggered into his shop with more confidence than any man had the right to possess, “but it was after that incident with Kotan Pa'dar that I convinced myself it was possible.” It had been the joy Julian had shown at the trial, his shared glee at solving the great mystery of it all.

“And you invited him to dinner and he didn't leave your quarters until the next morning.” Odo said, completing the story.

“I certainly hope you weren't masquerading as a bed sheet.” Garak said jokingly, though there was a great deal of him that was terrified of the prospect of it being true.

“Thankfully no.” Odo said, suddenly a little uncomfortable by the more blatant innuendo.

“Did you watch us eat dinner as well?”

“Don't worry,” Odo shook his head while he looked back at his Zabu meat and dared to put another piece on his fork. “I was outside your quarters the entire time. I promise.”

“Well, if you _had_ seen the dinner, you'd have noticed how unsure I was that he was even interested.” Garak had wanted to skip dinner entirely, to simply take the man and let himself be taken, but there was always that seed of doubt. That “what if” about whether or not he’d read all the signs wrong. So, instead, they had their meal and Garak fearfully asked if they should retire to the bedroom.

“Harrumph!” Odo let out again. “You're so certain that he's going to end your relationship, you've changed the past narrative in your mind to better fit one where you are more invested than he is.” Odo seemed almost amused by this concept.

“You're suggesting that _he's_ the one who's a lovesick fool?” He knew that Julian was in love with him, but he couldn’t imagine that his beautiful lover harbored even greater affection for him than he did for Julian. Especially since, Garak wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive a love more powerful.

“He is. But he's not alone. You're both pathetically enamored with one another.” Garak smiled before his second bite of Zabu meat, making it instantly fade. “When I first met you and suspected your connections, I must say that I never anticipated you being such a romantic.”

“You're just jealous.”

–

Bashir once again made his way to the security office. This time he did have Odo let him into Garak's cell. Garak looked up at Bashir as he walked in, but he didn't move from the bed.

“Hello, Elim,” Bashir greeted softly, coming over to stand by the bed. Garak smiled faintly at him, but said nothing. Bashir bit his lip. “May I join you?” he asked, gesturing to the bed.

“Of course, my dear,” Garak replied, sliding over to make room. Bashir sat next to him, then gently placed a hand on Garak's knee.

“I've missed you,” Bashir said.

Garak chuckled. “I know I've been very hard to track down lately.”

Bashir sighed and raised his other hand to cup Garak's cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, “so very, very much.”

It was Garak who closed the distance and brought them into a kiss. It was sweet and chaste, they were still in a cell after all, but it was also tender and loving. They both smiled as they pulled back.

“I love you too,” Garak replied. “I'm sorry I-” Bashir cut him off with another quick kiss.

“Let's not worry about that right now.” Bashir grinned, his thumb lightly stroking Garak's cheek. “I've been looking at quarters for when we move in together. I've picked a few that I think would work well, but I want you to see them before we make any decisions.”

Garak frowned slightly. “You still want to go through with that?”

“Only if you want to,” Bashir said quickly. “We don't have to do it if you've changed your mind, but...” Bashir hesitated, glancing away nervously. “I'd still like to.”

“Oh, my dear Julian,” Garak whispered, awestruck. “I didn't think you'd want to after...” Bashir frowned.

“Of _course_ I want to, Elim. I still love you.” His frown fell away into a gentle smile. “And I want to spend more time with you. You mean so much to me.” He wrapped his arms around Garak and brought him into a strong and loving embrace. “Don't ever doubt that for a moment.” Garak let out a sigh and returned the hug. After a while, the two of them pulled apart.

“We should do something to celebrate when you're released,” Bashir suggested, leaning his head against Garak's shoulder. “Maybe Ben could prepare a dinner? We could invite Ziyal and Odo and Jadzia. Jake would be there, obviously. Hmm. We should probably invite the O'Brien's. You and Keiko might get along well.”

Garak chuckled. “My dear, as good as your intentions are, perhaps you should consider that I did nearly kill about half the guest list. I doubt they'll be eager to celebrate my release.”

“Mmm. But at the very least they'll be happy to celebrate that I'm not complaining how much I miss you anymore,” Bashir countered, smirking.

–

Bashir was practically bouncing as he waited for Garak to be released. While he had been able to visit his lover regularly and had also been allowed into his cell, it still felt like it had been ages since they'd seen each other.

Odo emerged from the back of the security office first, but Garak followed closely behind him, carrying the PADD that Bashir had given him at the beginning of his imprisonment. It took all of Bashir's willpower to not immediately run over and pull Garak into a crushing embrace. He instead directed his enthusiasm into an overly eager smile and waited for Garak to approach him.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Garak returned his smile and held out his hand, which Bashir eagerly took, their fingers lacing together instantly. “Ready.”

They nodded to Odo and practically flew down the halls as they made their way to Garak's quarters. Once inside, the PADD crashed to the floor, abandoned as Bashir pressed Garak against the wall, kissing him desperately.

“I missed you so much,” Bashir murmured when he finally pulled back. “Missed you. Missed this.” His hands slid eagerly to the fastenings of Garak's tunic, unhooking them with practiced ease.

Garak chuckled breathlessly. “You knew exactly where I was if the frequency of your visits is anything to go by.” He suppressed a shudder as Bashir pushed the tunic from his shoulders and began to run his hands over Garak's chest, becoming reacquainted with the patterns of his scales.

“It's not the same,” Bashir protested, moving to kiss and nip at Garak's neck. “We couldn't do this in your cell, there's no privacy.”

“Mm. No telling when Odo could walk in.” Garak felt like he was putty in Bashir's hands. They had been separated for far too long.

“Exactly.” Bashir pulled away just long enough to remove his uniform jacket and undershirt, tossing them carelessly on the ground, before pulling Garak to the bedroom.

When they were done, Garak pressed idle kisses to Bashir as he recovered. A rare feeling of security wrapped around him. Despite everything, Bashir still loved him, still desired him, still wanted Garak in his life.

“I love you,” Garak whispered against Bashir's cheek as he pressed yet another kiss there. Bashir grinned, his eyes sparkling with delight.

“I love you too, Elim,” he murmured back, pulling himself up to press a kiss to Garak's lips. “Never doubt that.”

They lazily traded kisses back and forth for a bit, until Bashir pulled back.

“We should probably get dressed,” he said. A sigh of regret escaped his lips. “We _do_ have a party to get to.”

Garak smirked. “And whose fault is that, my dear?” Bashir rolled his eyes and slid off of the bed, bending down to retrieve his clothes from the floor. “Don't bother putting your uniform back on. I'm sure I have something far more pleasing for you to wear.”

“I do need to be wearing clothes, Elim,” Bashir reminded teasingly.

“ _Unfortunately,”_ Garak purred as he slid over to his closet and flipped through the clothing until he found what he was looking for. With a soft exclamation of delight, Garak pulled out a cream colored suit and a lilac shirt. “Here. Wear this.”

Bashir sighed, but accepted the outfit and put it on while Garak picked out his own clothing. His eyes lit up when Garak pulled on a tunic with a wide and low neckline.

“It's been a while since you've worn something like this, hasn't it?” Bashir asked, slipping up behind and wrapping his arms around Garak's waist.

“Mm,” Garak agreed. “The station is a bit cold for this style.” Bashir kissed his way from Garak's shoulder, up his neck ridge, to just below the Cardassian's ear, making Garak moan. “Though you make a convincing argument for wearing it regardless.”

Bashir let out a breathy chuckle. “Well, I don't want you to be cold, but I wouldn't object to you wearing these more often.” His voice dropped in pitch. “Especially if you don't leave our quarters.”

–

“The man of the hour!” O'Brien called with joy once Garak and Bashir walked in. The party was being held in the Captain’s quarters, since they were larger and he insisted on cooking in the first place. Garak was somewhat relieved that this meant Sisko was the host instead of him or Bashir.

“Welcome back.” Jadzia said with a reassuring pat on Garak’s arm. Everyone was acting as if Garak had just been away on vacation or on some sort of mission instead of imprisoned in the security office. Still, he supposed that was probably for the best.

“Give him room to breathe!” O'Brien laughed when more people started to crowd Garak. If only the Chief realized how important “room to breathe” was to Garak. The Chief was in an exceptionally good mood, though when Garak spied the pint in his hand, he began to suspect he knew the reason why. “And now we can finally eat!”

“Miles!” Keiko hissed and elbowed her husband in the gut, though her small playful smile betrayed her aggravation.

“We did run a bit late.” Bashir blushed and apologized. “I hope everyone’s not too hungry.”

“If we were starving, we wouldn’t have waited.” Sisko smirked before motioning a hand toward the table of food. “Everyone feel free to serve yourselves.” The promise of food had everyone turning away from Garak so he could pursue conversation at his own leisure.

“It’s good to see you.” Ziyal smiled when he walked over to her.

“You look well, my dear.” He nodded happily. Jake walked over to join them with two full plates and a wide grin.

“You better get food while you can, Garak.” He said happily while he handed his second plate to Ziyal. “Ziyal made the Hasperat.” Ziyal smiled sheepishly while she took the food.

“Did you now?” Garak asked with pride.

“Well, I told you I wanted to learn how to cook.” She explained. “And I wanted to do _something_ for your getting out.” Her smile then grew wider. “I also made deviled Regova eggs!” Garak grinned.

“Thank you, that’s most kind of you.” Garak nodded before turning toward the table. “I’ll be back shortly, it would be a shame for me to miss out on your cooking.”

“They seem to be getting on well,” Bashir smiled as he came to Garak already with two plates. “Here, I got you food.” Garak took the plate with a sigh.

“I would have liked to have arranged it myself.” He said teasingly. “There is something to be said for presentation, Doctor.” Bashir rolled his eyes once he was called “doctor.”

“How very Cardassian of you.” Bashir chuckled. “You ignored the food to make conversation, but when food was given to you, you criticize the way it’s laid out.”

“I would never criticize you, my dear.” He said with a light kiss to Bashir’s cheek. “Merely expressing my preferences.”

“You’re too young to be so set in your ways.” Bashir smiled. “Let me be the old and stubborn one.”

“I believe I’m better suited for the role.” Garak corrected. “You want to be liked too desperately to be unaccommodating.”

“Whereas you are happy to be resented?” Bashir smirked before taking a bite of his food.

“As long as you love me,” Garak said, looking over the man before him, “all other opinions hardly matter.”

“You are cruel to be so romantic when we can’t get away.” Bashir blushed.

“You’re the one who decided to throw this party.” Garak reminded. “Our current social obligations are all your fault.” Bashir raised a dubious eyebrow that made Garak suspect the doctor was resisting the urge to point out that Garak was the one who had gotten himself imprisoned in the first place. “But, I must say,” He added, recognizing that Bashir had done a lot to put this together, “it’s good to be here.”

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Bashir whispered shyly before he was pulled away by one of his many friends who wanted to talk to him. Garak found conversations of his own to start and be pulled into, people besides Bashir who were happy to see him. It all seemed so foreign and strange, but Garak had become accepted by the station, liked by Bashir's friends, and loved by the doctor himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice long chapter~ And we are now into season 5!


	29. Let He Who Is Without Sin... - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x07 - Let He Who Is Without Sin...

Garak knew something was up when Bashir walked into his shop with a gleam in his eye. Bashir meandered over to him, occasionally pretending to take an interest in a piece of clothing on display. The act was so token, Garak wondered if he wasn't supposed to see through it.

“ What do you think about going away?” Bashir asked when he finally made it to Garak's work table.

Garak raised an eye ridge. “You mean closing up the shop and following you to your quarters?” He would have continued but Bashir was already shaking his head.

“ No, no. I mean leaving the station. Going on vacation somewhere.” Bashir grinned, coaxing a wry smile from Garak.

“ Why do I suspect you already have something in mind?” he asked, suspicious.

“ Well, Jadzia mentioned that she and Worf were going to Risa, and I haven't taken a proper vacation in ages, and Risa is beautiful and warm and romantic, so I asked her if there would possibly be room on the runabout for two more. So...?” Bashir leaned across the work table, smiling invitingly. When Garak didn't respond, Bashir began eagerly listing off all the attractions he thought would entice Garak, until finally Garak spoke.

“ My dear, you don't need to persuade me into wanting to go. You know full well that I would love nothing more than to leave this station with you.” Garak's expression turned regretful. “But it's simply not possible.” He raised an eye ridge, trying to silently convey the message “You know why.”

Bashir frowned. “Elim, it isn't healthy for you to stay trapped here, and considering you were recently in prison, I think a brief change of scene would do wonders for your mental health.” He smiled reassuringly. “This trip will be completely safe for you. You'll be on a Federation runabout with three Starfleet officers. One of them will be Worf! Worf will happily stop anyone attempting to harm us. Besides,” Bashir's expression turned slightly flirtatious, “you'll have a doctor on hand at all times in case of emergencies.”

Garak smiled despite himself. “That is certainly true.”

“ _And_ we'll be on a Federation pleasure planet. It's one of the most heavily guarded places around. And again, _Worf_ will be there.”

“ ...How warm is Risa?” Garak asked after a brief hesitation. Bashir's grin grew even wider in triumph.

“ _Tropical,”_ he said passionately. “But if that's not enough for you, you'll always have me to warm you up.” Bashir reached out and began to lightly stroke the back of Garak's hand as Garak considered this information.

Finally, Garak answered. “Alright, but I'm packing your clothes.”

“ Deal,” Bashir said before pressing a quick kiss to Garak's lips. “You're going to have a wonderful time, I promise!” Bashir grinned and practically skipped out of the store.

“ I'm sure I will,” Garak murmured at Bashir's retreating form.

–

The atmosphere in the runabout during the journey to Risa had been slightly strained. Worf seemed annoyed by Bashir and Garak's mere presence, and Bashir had decided to address this in his usual way: by talking.

“This is the first time I've been able to convince Elim to leave the station with me,” Bashir commented to Jadzia as he headed back to the replicator. “If he'd been willing sooner, we'd have done Risa _ages_ ago.” He handed Jadzia a brightly colored drink before ordering a similarly colorful drink for himself. “Elim, the runabout doesn't have red leaf tea. Do you want me to pick something else for you?” Worf had declined Bashir's initial offer.

Garak let out a put-upon sigh. “I suppose something fruity to match yours. But not  _ bubbly _ ,” he requested, disgust coloring the last word. Bashir chuckled, but in short order produced yet another colorful drink, this one was warm with steam curling from the top. Garak smiled appreciatively up at Bashir as he wrapped his hands around the glass.

“ Mm,” Jadzia hummed appreciatively as she took a sip of her drink. “I never get tired of Risa.”

“ I don't tire of it,” Bashir said, leaning against the runabout’s wall, “but I do like to see new places. Have you ever gone skinny dipping in the cave pools of Isis III?”

“ I have,” Jadzia replied with a smile. “Once as Emony and once as Curzon. Very different reactions for the different hosts. Still, Dax was popular each time.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, causing Bashir to laugh.

Garak reached out and lightly touched Bashir's arm to get his attention. “My dear, what is 'skinny dipping'?” he asked, ignoring Jadzia's amused smirk.

“ Oh, it's, um, swimming...in the nude.” Bashir's reply came haltingly.

Garak's curious expression turned into a knowing smile as his hand slid down Bashir's arm and caught his hand. “On Cardassia, that's just how we swim.”

Bashir's face flushed, partially due to Garak's words and partially due to the way Garak's thumb was stroking his palm. “W-wait,” he stammered. “Then what did you pack...?”

“ Oh,” Garak said airily, releasing Bashir's hand. “You'll see.” Jadzia let out a poorly concealed laugh.

“ I'm just worried that everyone else will see too,” Bashir replied easily, though the blush still remained on his face.

“They are welcome to _look_ all they want,” Garak said with a smirk and a very obvious run of his gaze up and down Bashir's body. “ _Touching_ on the other hand.” He gave a playfully dangerous smile. Jadzia quietly cooed while Worf let out an irritated huff. But Bashir's reaction was to smile and sigh fondly, and his was the only reaction Garak truly cared about.

–

Since none of them had a horga'hn statue, their welcome to Risa was warm but brief. Bashir and Dax had changed into their beachwear on the runabout, so the couples quickly went their separate way. Bashir grinned as he lead Garak towards the beach, their hands clasped.

“ So,” he prompted eagerly, “what do you think?”

Garak smiled readily back and gave Bashir's hand a light squeeze. “The temperature is agreeable, at least.”

“ I’m glad it meets with your approval,” Bashir said, pressing a quick kiss to Garak’s cheek. The grass gave way to sand, and Bashir led them down the beach to some well-lit lounge chairs. They sat next to each other, their hands still entwined. Garak lay back, sighed, and relaxed, letting the sun soak into his body. “And now?” Bashir murmured, lifting Garak’s hand to his lips and pressing several quick kisses to his fingertips. “What do you think now?”

“ I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.” Garak’s voice dripped satisfaction.

Bashir chuckled. “I haven’t even shown you the hot springs or the spa yet,” he teased.

Garak weakly shook his head. “I’m never moving from this spot.” He could feel the warmth seeping all the way to his bones, banishing the chill of the station from his body.

“ Well, as long as you’re happy,” Bashir replied with a soft smile. Garak slipped his eyes open and noted how his lover’s eyes kept glancing away. He turned to follow their gaze and spotted an assorted group of people organizing some sort of game.

“ Do you want to join them?” he asked, startling Bashir who hadn’t realized he was being observed.

Bashir smiled sheepishly. “I can sit for a while longer. There will be plenty of time for games later.”

“ Julian, you don’t need to sit here on my account. Go ahead, I’ll stay here, bask, and enjoy the view.” Garak raised an eye ridge suggestively.

“ If you’re sure,” Bashir demurred, but he was already standing.

Garak lifted Bashir’s hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “Have fun, my dear.” That was all the permission Bashir needed. He gave Garak a quick kiss and then sprinted across the beach to join the game.

Garak alternated between closing his eyes and watching Bashir play. While he was certainly incredibly relaxed and deeply soothed by the warmth surrounding him, that didn’t mean that he’d lowered his guard, nor was he as oblivious to the world as he appeared. He certainly noticed when Worf approached even before the Klingon gave him a begrudging greeting, but even while Garak returned it, he kept his focus on Bashir and the game.

Bashir held one of his teammates, a beautiful woman, and lifted her off the ground, while both of them laughed and smiled. As Bashir lowered her back to the ground, his eyes met Garak's and he smiled even brighter when Garak waved.

“ I don't understand why Doctor Bashir thinks  _ that  _ is appropriate. Especially when you are right here.”

Garak glanced over at Worf, who was glaring at the game. “He's only comfortable doing it _because_ I'm here,” Garak explained with a smile. “If I hadn't been able to come on this trip, he would have taken his leave somewhere with a less risque reputation. Like a monastery.” He chuckled at his own wry joke.

Worf’s frown deepened. “And you're not bothered by the way other people are looking at him?”

“ As I said on the runabout, they're more than welcome to look,” Garak replied. “On Cardassia having a mate that inspires such open admiration and desire would be considered a point of pride.” Garak's smile turned into a smirk. “They are welcome to look because that is all they can do.”

“ Even so,” Worf continued, “he shouldn't encourage their attentions. It is disgraceful.”

Bashir smiled as he said goodbye to the other players and quickly walked back to Garak. “Hello, Worf,” he greeted before leaning down to give Garak a tender kiss. “Elim, would you believe that Vanessa invited me to play tennis with her tomorrow morning?” Bashir grinned. “I haven't played tennis outside of a holosuite in  _ ages. _ ”

“ At least in a holosuite you don’t have an audience,” Worf muttered loud enough to be heard.

“ Worf, it's just tennis,” Bashir protested, confusion mixing with his previously pleasant expression.

“ Don't let it bother you, my dear,” Garak soothed, catching Bashir's hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. “Commander Worf has decided that instead of discussing his issues with Jadzia, he'd rather lecture others on how they conduct their relationships.” Garak stood, sliding an arm around Bashir’s waist before turning to face Worf. “Commander, I understand that you think you’re defending my honor,” Garak didn’t quite manage to suppress an eyeroll, “but you forget: I don’t have any.” With that he pulled Bashir away from Worf.

–

As they strolled along the beach, Garak noted the appreciative looks Bashir attracted and smiled to himself. He spotted a lounge chair and led Bashir to it. They sat down side by side.

“ You’re gorgeous. Half the beach wishes they could have you, my dear,” Garak declared proudly.

“ Really?” Bashir asked, clearly surprised, his fingers lightly tapping against Garak’s arm.

“ Didn’t you notice the way people were staring at you?” Garak asked.

Bashir shook his head and chuckled. “I guess I wasn’t looking at them.”

“ No?” Garak slid his hand up Bashir’s back, under his shirt. Bashir’s skin was a bit sticky with sweat, but Garak reveled in the contact all the same.

“ I was looking at the most attractive person on all of Risa,” Bashir said tenderly, kissing Garak’s temple. “You.”

At a loss for words, Garak leaned up and captured Bashir’s mouth in a kiss. While the kiss started sweet and innocent, it quickly shifted as with one hand Garak explored Bashir’s back and the other he slid up Bashir’s leg, his thumb tracing circles on Bashir’s inner thigh, occasionally teasing higher.

“ Right here?” Bashir gasped when they broke apart.

“ Why not?” Garak’s thumb ran along the boundary between hip and thigh. “We certainly wouldn’t be the only ones.” Garak paused his attentions long enough to deliberately look around. There were plenty of couples along the beach at various levels of physical intimacy. Here, on their relatively abandoned plot of land, they would hardly attract notice.

“ Mm.” Bashir’s eyes darkened and he leaned his head down, hovering over Garak’s neck so that his breath ran over Garak’s ridges as he spoke. “I just didn’t expect you to be such an exhibitionist.”

“ Well, I like making it clear to everyone what the exact nature of our relationship is,” Garak purred. He glanced down just in time to spot a flirtatious smirk on Bashir’s face then he moaned as Bashir stopped teasing and began to actually give his neck ridges some proper attention.

Bashir pushed Garak to lie back on the chair as he climbed into his lover's lap. He pushed Garak's shirt up, making it easier for him to run his hand along the ridges on Garak’s chest. Garak shifted his hand around Bashir's leg, running it up the back of Bashir's thigh before grabbing the side of Bashir's hip and grinding up against him. Bashir gasped and his hand involuntarily squeezed Garak's neck ridge, making Garak buck his hips again. They lost themselves in each other for a bit, until Bashir paused and looked at the crowd growing only a short distance away.

“ Elim,” he began reluctantly, “I think we should stop.”

Garak let out a regretful sigh. “I'm afraid I agree with you. This is more of an audience than we anticipated.” He resisted the urge to touch Bashir as the older man moved off of the chair and took some time to calm himself down. Instead, he took the time to look at the crowd. Rather than the bright and revealing beachwear favored by most people on Risa, most of this group was dressed conservatively in darker colors. Garak raised a curious eye ridge. “That seems like an unusual group for Risa,” he commented.

“ I wonder what's going on...” Bashir frowned, then something caught his eye. “Jadzia and Worf are over there. Maybe they'll know.”

Garak stood, lightly took Bashir's hand, and let Bashir lead him toward the crowd. Jadzia and Worf were standing off to the side with a Risian woman. Worf let out a quiet huff at their approach, while Jadzia smiled knowingly and winked.

“ Enjoying yourselves?” she asked.

“ Immensely,” Bashir replied with a grin as he squeezed Garak’s hand.

“ Glad to hear it,” Jadzia said, though something about her expression wasn’t as happy as the mood she was trying to project.

Bashir frowned in concern and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Is everything alright, Jadzia?”

“ It’s nothing,” she replied quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“ Alright, but my room is open if you need anything.” He glanced sheepishly back at Garak and blushed. “Although you should probably knock first.” Jadzia laughed as any further conversation was cut off by Fullerton beginning his speech.

–

After the Essentialists finished their rally, the two couples walked the short distance to the solarium, debating Fullerton’s message as they went.

“ What are you talking about? Come on, Worf. This sounds like nonsense,” Bashir said dismissively as they all sat around a low table near the center of the room.

“ I am merely observing that the Klingons never would have attacked if had they not believed the Federation vulnerable,” Worf countered. “Even now, since the Changeling was discovered on the Klingon High Council, most of my people continue to call for war because they think they can win.”

Bashir rolled his eyes. “None of this has anything to do with Risa.”

“ You cannot be certain of that.”

“Fullerton does have a point, my dear,” Garak chimed in. “The Federation is generally seen as less threatening than the other major powers in the quadrant.” He made a point of looking around. “And if _this_ is any indication, that reputation has merit.”

“ This is the only Federation planet you’ve ever been to,” Bashir scoffed. “Risa is for relaxing and vacationing. Not  _ all  _ of our worlds are like this.”

Garak smiled at Bashir, the smile he only used when he wanted to make clear how much he was enjoying a debate. “I’ll believe that,” he conceded. “But wouldn't the taking of a Pleasure Planet be a devastating blow to morale?”

“ What military advantage could seizing Risa possibly serve?” Jadzia asked skeptically.

“ Probably none,” Worf admitted, “but it should still not be handed over so easily.”

“ This is all assuming someone does try to take Risa, which is fairly unlikely.” Bashir leaned his chin on his hands. “I doubt anyone is planning to attack the Federation based on what happens here.”

“ You cannot be certain of that,” Worf growled.

Jadzia smiled across the table at Bashir. “All I know is I've spent lifetimes defending the Federation, and I deserve a vacation every now and then.”

“ Here, here!” Bashir seconded, as the two burst into laughter. After a bit, Garak joined in, leaving Worf as the only solemn one at the table.

“ Well, I may not agree with your argument,” Garak said lightly, laying a hand on Bashir’s shoulder, “but I’m certainly not going to argue with the results.” Bashir turned to smile at Garak just as Garak placed his other hand on Bashir’s thigh and raised an eye ridge. Bashir’s smile became sultry as he registered what Garak was suggesting.

“ Excuse us,” Bashir said to Jadzia and Worf as he and Garak stood up from the table. “We have some unfinished business to attend to.”

They had only just started to leave when there was a loud commotion from outside. Garak slipped from Bashir’s side and disappeared as a group of Essentialists with phaser rifles burst into the room.

Jadzia made eye contact with both Worf and Bashir. “On three. One, two-”

“ Wait,” Worf interrupted as Garak emerged from wherever he’d hidden to disarm one of the attackers and hold him, a slender knife at the Bolian’s throat keeping him still.

“ That's enough,” Fullerton announced as he entered. “Well, I hope we've proved our point.”

Garak still held his captive. Bashir picked up the Bolian’s discarded weapon and checked it.

“ The power cells are empty,” he announced, confused.

“ We have no intention of harming anyone,” Fullerton declared with a quick look in Garak’s direction.

Bashir gave Fullerton a disapproving look before turning his attention to Garak. “It’s alright, Elim,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll cause anymore trouble.”

“ For now,” Garak countered, but he did release his Bolian captive, and his knife disappeared.

“ I don’t understand,” Jadzia said, looking at Fullerton.

“ You think you're safe here in this paradise of yours, but you're not. What if we had been Jem'Hadar or Klingons or Romulans. You'd be dead now. Even you Starfleet officers were lulled into a false sense of security. If you could be taken unaware, what chance do the rest of us have?” Fullerton glanced over at Garak, prompting Bashir to put a protective arm around his lover. “The only one here who was at all prepared for an attack was the Cardassian, a race that’s hardly friendly.” Fullerton shook his head in dismay. “The sad truth is the galaxy is a hostile place. Forget that, even for a moment, and you risk losing everything. Just something for you to think about while you wait for your desserts.”

Bashir could feel that the tension still remained in the body of the man beside him, so he murmured, “Come on, Elim, let's leave,” as he led Garak out of the solarium and back to their room.

–

As soon as the door closed behind them, Garak pulled out of Bashir’s hold and walked away from him.

“ It was a mistake to bring me, Julian. I'm not welcome on a Federation world anymore than I am on Cardassia.” He let out a sigh and gave a vaguely hopeless gesture. “I don’t belong here.”

“ You belong with me,” Bashir insisted, crossing to Garak’s side and tentatively placing his hand on Garak’s arm, only for it to immediately be shrugged away as Garak took another step back.

“ You have a life outside of me. Worlds you could call home and friends who surround you.” Garak raised his eyes to meet Bashir’s, trying to convey the depth of his feeling through that connection. “But for me… You're all I have.”

“And _you’re_ all I want.” Bashir stepped forward, gently taking Garak’s hands in his own. “Do you think Fullerton represents anyone I would _ever_ want to spend time with?” He ran his thumbs lightly over Garak’s fingers, trying to send some reassurance through the motion.

“ It's not just the Essentialists,” Garak said softly, though his gaze remained steady.

“Worf?” Bashir asked, barely suppressing a chuckle. “He’s hardly my friend. The man _hates_ me.”

Garak shook his head and pulled away again. “He hates  _ me _ , my dear. I'm sure he'd be fond of you as a friend of Dax if I were to disappear.”

“When will you get it through your thick scales that if you were to disappear, a part of _me_ would be lost with you?” Bashir’s tone was bordering on exasperated, but there was no rage in it, only frustration that they were on the edge of having this fight again. “I love you, Elim!”

“ Why do you love me?” Garak looked at Bashir helplessly. “I don't understand.”

Bashir sighed, most of the frustration leaving him as he wrapped his arms around Garak and pulled him into a hug. “There’s no one thing or reason. It just happened that you're the one my heart chose.” He gave Garak a fond smile as he pulled back from the embrace, his arms still loosely around his love. “All of you, good and bad.”

“ Mostly bad,” Garak replied with what was meant to be a wry smirk but instead came across as a faintly fond smile. “Your heart has horrid taste.”

“ I love you because you're exactly what I need,” Bashir said tenderly. “You're brilliant, fascinating, funny, and cynical. Not to mention attractive and excellent in bed.” His expression shifted into a lopsided smile.

“ And... Palis didn't give you that?” Garak asked hesitantly.

Bashir’s smile became softer. “She gave me a lot. Mostly she gave me her love during a time when I was very insecure and trying to prove myself. She believed in me, but I changed and so did she.” He let out another sigh.

“ You might change again,” Garak pointed out, a hint of wariness in his tone.

Bashir shrugged. “I probably will. It's not a good sign if you don't grow.” He raised his hand to caress Garak’s face.  “ _ But,  _ Palis and I, we didn’t grow together; we grew apart. That won’t happen with you and I.”

“ How can you be sure of that?”

“ Because I'm stubborn, and you're wonderful, so I refuse to let you go.” Bashir’s tender smile turned into a grin. “Besides, what could possibly happen at this point to ruin our relationship that we haven't already been through?” Convinced, Garak gave in and kissed the man he loved.

 


	30. Let He Who Is Without Sin... - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x07 - Let He Who Is Without Sin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to any JadziaxWorf fans. (Listen, this episode was already rough for them, add in Garak and, well...)

The next morning, while Bashir was on the way back from his tennis match with Vanessa, Jadzia approached him, looking worried.

“Julian, have you seen Worf?” she asked.

“No, why?” Bashir hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“He just stormed off. He walked in while I was with Arandis, but we weren’t  _ doing  _ anything. He just assumed-”

“Jadzia,” Bashir said softly, “let’s go inside.” She nodded and Bashir delicately placed a hand on her shoulder. She let him guide her into the solarium and onto a chair. “Now, take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”

Jadzia explained how she’d come into the solarium and found Arandis cleaning up the mess the Essentialists had made the previous night, and then she’d started telling Arandis about the problems she’d been having with Worf. Arandis had suggested that Jadzia try pouring her emotions into working with clay, and that’s what they’d been doing when Worf walked in.

Bashir let out a sigh. “I hate to say it, but I _do_ understand why Worf reacted that way. Sometimes, you can get an idea in your head, and it seems like everything that your lover does just proves that they’re more interested in someone else. But you have to actually _talk_ to them about it. When I thought Elim…” Bashir trailed off, embarrassed.

Unfortunately for his dignity, what he’d said was enough to catch Jadzia’s attention. “You thought  _ Garak  _ was cheating on you?” she asked in surprise. “Really?”

“ No, I...I thought he was going to leave me...for Ziyal…” Bashir glanced sheepishly up at Jadzia, who was clearly curious about that story. “Look, the  _ point  _ is, you and Worf need to talk, but he has to be willing to listen to you. Unfounded jealousy is  _ his  _ problem. You shouldn’t stop talking to anyone any Dax has ever flirted with just to make him comfortable.”

“ Jadzia.” Arandis had entered while they were talking. 

“Any luck?” Jadzia asked.

“ I'm afraid not. None of the staff can find him, but I'm sure he'll turn up.”

“ Maybe you should take your mind off of him for a bit? We could take some floaters up into the hills,” Bashir suggested. “I haven’t had a chance to take Elim to the hot springs yet.”

Before Jadzia could voice her thoughts, there was a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder.

“ What was that?” she asked. The deafening patter of rain answered the question. “I thought it wasn't supposed to rain in this part of Risa.”

“ It's not,” Arandis replied. “Something must be wrong with the weather grid.”

“ Oh no,” Bashir murmured. “I should check on Elim.” He nodded to Jadzia and Arandis before running out into the storm.

–

Bashir was soaking wet by the time he entered the room. The covered walkways hadn't provided much protection when the wind had decided to pick up.

“ Julian!” Garak sat in a chair, under a blanket. He put the PADD he'd been reading aside and stood up, leaving the blanket on the chair.

Bashir smiled sheepishly and pulled off his shoes before ducking into the bathroom to grab the largest towel he could find. He dried himself off as best he could, then placed the towel on the floor to absorb the puddle quickly growing at his feet.

“ There's some kind of problem with the weather grid,” Bashir explained quickly. “It's not supposed to rain in this part of Risa. Hopefully, they'll be able to fix it soon.” Garak absently hummed in agreement, his gaze focused on Bashir's chest. The pale blue shirt Bashir was wearing had turned see-through and clung to his body in ways Garak found delightful.

“ On the bright side, this weather certainly suits you,” Garak purred.

Bashir blinked, clearly confused. “You’re alright?”

Garak let out a sigh. “My dear, I am not some fragile piece of Betazoid dishware, I can handle a few moments of discomfort.” He smirked. “Besides, I like the idea of you feeling stuck indoors with me.” He turned and pulled another towel from the bathroom.

“ You really are enjoying Risa,” Bashir commented, wearing a smile that could only be described as boyish.

Garak unrolled the towel and placed it on top of Bashir’s still-dripping hair. It framed Bashir’s face and draped behind his shoulders. “True,” he admitted readily, sliding his hand down Bashir’s face and chest to the hidden closure of his wrap-around shirt, “but I'd much rather be enjoying _you_ at the moment.” He unhooked the closure and began to slowly peel the shirt from his lover.

A soft chuckle escaped Bashir’s lips. “Elim, I don't think I've ever known you to be this frisky.” His tone and his eyes made it clear that this was not at all a complaint.

“ You've never come to me sopping wet on Risa before,” Garak countered, guiding Bashir’s shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and letting it fall to the floor. He reached his hand around to the back of Bashir’s neck and slid it up into his wet hair, using that leverage to guide Bashir into a kiss. They both smiled softly at each other when they pulled back. “Now get out of those wet clothes, dry off, and join me in bed.” Garak stepped back and swiftly removed his own shirt, dropping it on the ground. He turned to head towards the bed, but paused long enough to shoot Bashir an inviting look over his shoulder.

Bashir didn’t need to be told twice.

–

Bashir let out a sigh as Garak snuggled deeper into his arms, lightly nuzzling his neck.

“ Is something wrong, my dear?”

“ Not at all,” Bashir answered quickly. He didn’t want to give Garak any reason to doubt his affection. “Why do you ask?”

“ You keep sighing,” Garak explained. “And don’t try to pass them off as sighs of contentment; those sound different.”

Bashir forced back another sigh, but he had to admit that Garak was right. There wasn’t something  _ wrong  _ precisely, but there was certainly something on his mind. “Worf and Jadzia are fighting.”

“ Oh?”

“ Mm. And it got me thinking...about Palis and I.” Bashir could feel Garak release a bit of tension. He pressed a kiss to Garak’s head in apology for worrying him. “I suppose I would describe myself as being very passionate.”

“ You? Julian Subatoi Bashir? Passionate?” Garak teased.

“ Shush,” Bashir replied. “As I was saying, when Palis and I first became involved, I tried to go to as many of her performances as possible. It was hard work. I was teaching at Starfleet Academy, which was on a different continent and in a different time zone. But I loved her, so I did it. I’d already given up a proper Starfleet career, so it didn’t make sense not to put everything into that relationship. Over time I went to fewer and fewer. Eventually I was only going to the opening performances, which honestly is how it probably should have been to begin with, but I was passionate and eager to prove that I loved Palis more than Starfleet. Drifting apart was so easy to justify. I had my work, she had hers. Some nights I wouldn’t even make it home. I’d spend the night in my office or at Felix’s apartment rather than make the trip.” Bashir sighed again. “It had been my choice. Her father had offered me a job in his hospital. I could have worked there, but I couldn’t truly give up Starfleet. Not even for Palis.” Bashir’s mind drifted for a bit before he continued. “During the same time she went to fewer and fewer of my Academy events. And, well, eventually I wasn’t even attending her openings. Palis was lovely about it, almost relieved sometimes when I’d tell her that I couldn’t make it. We barely saw each other. Even when we were both home, we were usually on different schedules.”

“ And then?” Garak asked when Bashir had been silent for several moments.

Bashir chuckled ruefully. “I decided to go to one of her performances, to make an effort, see if I could turn things around. She was Odette in Swan Lake, and she was exquisite.” Bashir smiled fondly at the memory. “The chemistry between her and the dancer playing Prince Siegfried was so incredible I just thought ‘They would make a nice couple.’ And that’s when I realized it was over. While I still loved Palis dearly, I wasn’t _in love_ with her anymore. The romance was gone.”

“ So what did you do?”

“ What we should have done from the start: we talked things over,” Bashir replied. “If we’d done that sooner instead of trying to ignore our problems, maybe things would have been different. Maybe we would have stayed together, or maybe we would have realized sooner that it wasn’t working.” Bashir sighed again. “That’s why watching Jadzia and Worf is so frustrating for me. They’re not talking  _ and  _ they’re fighting. Palis and I ignored each other because we didn't want a fight to ruin things when everything was already ruined. Worf and Jadzia are just... they’re both so determined to be right that it doesn't matter what gets destroyed in their path.”

Garak pushed himself up to look Bashir in the face. “It's not like you to be so maudlin, my dear,” he said softly.

“ Maybe the rain brings it out in me,” Bashir replied with a faint smile. He reached up and caressed Garak’s cheek. “I promise, I won't let what happened with Palis happen with you.”

“ Julian, you can't know-” Garak’s protests were silenced by Bashir placing his thumb on Garak's lips.

“ _ Elim.”  _ Bashir smiled tenderly. “I've learned from my mistakes. I don't ignore problems hoping they'll go away now. Besides, think about what we've been through. We've already faced so much and come through together on the other side. I doubt there's anything that could tear us apart now.” Garak leaned down kissed Bashir passionately. Bashir let himself get lost in the kiss, any thought of his dangerous secret far from his mind.

–

Bashir was still concerned about Jadzia, so he and Garak did manage to leave their room and make their way to the solarium. Luckily, although the rain hadn't stopped, the wind had died down, so they were able to stay relatively dry by sticking to the covered paths.

As soon as they were inside, Bashir immediately went to Jadzia, who was trying to look less miserable than she clearly was. Bashir sat beside her and pulled her into a comforting embrace, but before he could speak, Arandis entered and explained that the weather grid was malfunctioning but promised that the Risians would have it repaired soon.

“ No, you won’t,” Fullerton said, entering dramatically.

“ You're responsible for this,” Jadzia accused.

Fullerton smiled proudly. “I authorized it, but it was not my idea.”

“ It was mine,” Worf declared as he entered.

“ Are you serious?” Bashir asked, glancing at Jadzia for confirmation.

“ He's serious,” she confirmed grimly. She stood up, slipping out of Bashir’s arms. “Worf, what did you do? Build an uplink so you could take control of the weather grid?”

“ The grid has been deactivated. It will take three or four days to restore the system to normal operation. During that time, the inhabitants of Risa and their guests will experience the planet's natural weather cycle,” Worf explained.

Arandis sighed. “And for most of Risa that means rain, and plenty of it.”

“ Risa is an illusion created by weather control systems, industrial replicators, seismic regulators. If the Federation is going to survive, we're going to have to stop wasting our time with toys and get back to the essentials,” Fullerton proclaimed, then he and the Essentialists left.

“ I'm beginning to think there's no hope for that man. Or for you either, Mister Worf.” Arandis shot Worf a stern glare, then she left as well.

Bashir marched over to Worf, drew himself up to his full height, which was still shorter than the Klingon, and looked at him incredulously. “Commander, with all due respect, are you out of your mind?”

“ I think you will find me quite rational,” Worf replied.

“ As rational as Klingons get, anyway,” Garak commented from across the room.

“ Worf, this is wrong,” Jadzia said, her tone imploring him to reconsider his stance.

“ I disagree. If Federation citizens cannot handle a little bad weather, how will they handle a Dominion invasion?” Worf countered before he too turned and left.

–

Bashir and Garak had returned to their room shortly after Fullerton and Worf’s declarations. Garak began to fill the tub for a nice warm bath, while Bashir picked up a PADD and began to read.

After a while, there was a tentative knock on their door. Bashir checked, then opened it, and Jadzia walked into the the room.

“ Julian, can I talk to you?” she asked softly.

“ Of course, of course,” he said, guiding her to the room’s only chair.

Garak smiled and announced, “I was about to take a bath. I’ll leave you to your talk,” before retreating into the bathroom. He could hear the two of them talking, but they were speaking quietly enough that he couldn’t make out the substance of their conversation, not that Garak wanted to hear Jadzia’s complaints about Worf, nor Bashir’s attempts to help the pair sort out their issues.

He’d been soaking for a while and had just started to think about leaving the tub when there was an insistent pounding at the door. Even if the conversation hadn’t become loud enough for Garak to easily hear, he would have been able to tell by the change in tone that Worf was the new arrival.

“ How many times do I have to walk in on you with past lovers?” Worf demanded to know.

“ Past lovers?” Bashir echoed, confused.

“Worf, there is _nothing_ going on between me and Julian or me and Arandis” Jadzia’s frustration was evident in her voice. “But it didn’t occur to you to ask me about it, or trust me, just a little, did it?”

“ A Klingon woman would not have given me grounds for suspicion.”

“ And how would you know? Curzon spent more time with Klingons than you ever did,” Jadzia fired back.

As Garak got out of the tub, dried off, and slipped into his robe, he continued to listen to the conversation in the main room. Worf had moved from accusations of disloyalty to a sob story about an accidental death he’d caused through his own recklessness, occasionally prompted by Jadzia. Bashir had fallen silent, likely trying to let the two sort out their own problems. Garak, however decided he was going to voice his opinions. He returned to the main room while Worf was wrapping up his story.

“ Compared to Klingons, humans are fragile creatures. I realized at that moment to live among them I must practice restraint.”

“You call _this_ restraint?” Garak asked skeptically. “Ruining the vacations of a few hundred thousand people because of _your_ trust issues? You aided and abetted a _terrorist attack_ because you jumped to conclusions. I shudder to think what would happen if you had an _actual_ justification.”

“ Elim…” Bashir said quietly, not trying to get Garak to stop as much as simply trying to make sure he’d thought his actions through.

Worf turned his focus from Garak to Bashir. “Control him,” Worf ordered.

Garak turned to look at Bashir, who was completely stunned and said nothing.

Jadzia, on the other hand, was furious.  “ _ Control?!”  _ she exclaimed. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’re worried because you think the way I behave reflects badly on you. Well,” she said, fire in her eyes, “there are some things in life you can't control, and one of them is me.”

Suddenly the ground shook beneath them, knocking several decorative ornaments to the ground.

“ That felt like an earthquake,” Bashir said worriedly. The ground rumbled again.

“ The Essentialists,” Worf muttered.

Jadzia’s expression became one of angry determination. “Come on,” she said to Worf. “We’re going to clean up _your_ mess.” With that the two left Bashir and Garak’s room.

“ Should we follow them?” Garak asked.

Bashir shook his head. “I think we want to stay out of their way for a while.”

–

Bashir and Garak didn’t see Jadzia again until their vacation was essentially over. They’d beamed up to the runabout and found Jadzia sitting there, already in uniform, waiting for them. There was a bit of awkward silence before Jadzia took it upon herself to answer the unasked question.

“ Worf already left. He found earlier transportation.” Rather than say anything, Bashir and Garak both nodded.

Jadzia and Garak took the helm and laid in a course for Deep Space 9 while Bashir ducked in the back to change into his uniform. Once Bashir emerged, Garak glanced at Jadzia.

“ I can handle the ship on my own,” he offered quietly.

Jadzia gave him a grateful look and a stiff nod before heading back to talk to Bashir.

–

The trip back to the station was less tense than the trip to Risa, but there was a different kind of miserable atmosphere aboard the runabout. The trio were only too glad to disembark.

“ If you need anything, Jadzia, anything at all, let me know,” Bashir said yet again.

“ I will, Julian,” she promised reassuringly, before turning to Garak. “Thank you for piloting, Garak.”

Garak smiled. “It was no trouble at all, and if you have any fashion crises, please, come straight to me. Julian would be worse than useless.” That managed to coax the beginnings of a smile out of Jadzia.

“ I'll keep that in mind.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, we have thirty chapters and we're well into season five! I'm amazed at how much we've written. Thank you all for sticking with us!


	31. Things Past and Things Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x08 - Things Past through 5x09 - The Ascent

"I told you everything would be fine.” Garak opened his eyes to see Bashir beaming and with a reassuring hand on Jake Sisko’s shoulder. Ziyal was there as well, holding Jake’s hand with a smile.

"I’m so relieved!” She sighed as she pulled away to get closer to Garak while Jake rushed over to his father. “Are you alright?” She asked immediately.

"I’m fine, my dear.” Garak said reflexively as he began to sit up. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened. Obviously they were no longer trapped in the past, but it was difficult to adjust.

"Easy there, Elim.” Bashir said as he put his hand on Garak’s back, keeping him steady. “Now let’s treat that broken nose.” Garak absentmindedly moved his hand to feel the damage, causing him to wince. “Stop that!” Bashir scolded as he moved Garak’s hand back down.

Bashir was certainly in his professional doctor mode, Garak hadn’t seen it in some time so it was a bit disorienting. Then again, this entire situation was disorienting and Garak was simply attempting to remind himself where he was. Bashir, who was definitely “ _Doctor_ Bashir” at this moment, explained that some sort of link had formed due to Odo’s configuration and other bizarre circumstances that only seemed to happen around DS9. Bashir even suggested writing a paper on this unique case, but Odo was clearly not excited about the idea so he quickly retracted his offer.

"Let’s get you home,” Bashir said softly, snapping Garak out of his thoughts. He looked around to see that only he and Bashir were left in the infirmary. Garak simply nodded and allowed himself to be lead back to his quarters. “You should rest.” Again, Garak nodded and sat down on his bed. Bashir frowned. “Elim, what’s wrong?”

"Nothing, my dear.” Garak gave a reassuring smile. “I’m just readjusting, that’s all.” He shook his head as if he could rattle the whole experience out of his mind.

"I couldn't save you,” Bashir whispered. Garak looked up to see Bashir’s composure crumbling. “I’m so sorry.”

"My dear?”

"I should have gotten you out sooner.” Bashir went down on one knee and took Garak’s hand. “But everything I tried was pointless.”

"I’m safe, Julian.” Garak put his other hand on Bashir’s cheek, feeling the place where his scratchy beard grew sparse and left only bare skin.

"I thought you were going to die.” Bashir had tears in his eyes. Garak was in shock to see how much Bashir had been holding back.

"But I _didn't_ die.” Here Garak was, the smell of Bajoran bodies still in his mind, comforting a Starfleet officer who worried something could have happened to him. “I’m right here.” Bashir nodded, though he only looked slightly comforted. “You should spend the night. You need your rest too.” He began to guide Bashir up so he could join him on the bed. “I’m right here.” He repeated as they lay down, quickly falling into a much needed deep sleep.

–

“Elim, I have to get up,” Bashir said regretfully, days after that pseudo-linking incident. “I have a conference to go to.”

Garak smirked and snuggled closer. “ _Or_ you could skip the conference and stay here with me in this bed all week.”

“What about your shop?” Bashir restrained himself from wrapping his arms around Garak again.

“It can stay closed. After all, my housing costs are going to disappear as soon as you get around to finishing that paperwork,” Garak teased. Bashir sighed. “ _You're_ the one holding everything up, my dear, and it was your idea besides.” Garak hesitated, running his finger nervously along Bashir's collarbone. “Unless, of course, you've changed your mind.”

“No!” Bashir protested quickly. “Elim, I would never! There's just been missions and paperwork, and I kept putting it off.” He took Garak's hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss against Garak's knuckles. “I'm just making excuses. I promise, the moment I get back from this conference I will sign the paperwork and deliver it to Ben myself.”

“The _moment_ you get back?” Garak asked, fake sorrow dripping from his voice.

Bashir was not at all taken in. He smirked and kissed Garak's hand again. “The very moment. Then, _afterwards_ , we can celebrate in whatever way you see fit.”

The false expression fell from Garak's face, and instead he smiled and reached up to kiss Bashir properly.

“I'll hold you to that,” Garak pledged as he shifted to allow Bashir to actually leave the bed.

–

Garak wasn't at all surprised when Bashir entered the tailor shop almost as soon as his ship docked. He smiled up at his lover.

“I'll be with you in a moment, my dear,” he promised as he finished cutting out the piece he'd been working on.

“Take your time,” Bashir said pleasantly as he strolled over and placed his bag by the work table. Garak carefully finished, turned off the laser cutter and walked around the table to receive an embrace and a kiss. “I missed you so much,” Bashir murmured as he pulled away.

“And I missed you, Julian,” Garak replied. “However, while I certainly don't object to you showering me with affection, there was a certain something you promised to take care of the moment you got back, and there's no way you've had time to deliver the paperwork to Captain Sisko.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Bashir dismissed. “I want to be with you _now_.”

Garak pulled out of Bashir's hold and retrieved a PADD from his work table. “My dear, I said I'd hold you to your word, and I intend to do so.” He handed the PADD to Bashir. “All this needs is your thumb scan. I've already taken care of everything else.”

Bashir took the PADD and frowned. “Actually, Elim...I've been thinking. Maybe we _shouldn't_ move in together.”

“But this was _your_ idea,” Garak replied with a frown.

“I know, I know,” Bashir said quickly. “I just...while I was at the conference I had a lot of time to consider things and...maybe we're moving too fast.”

Garak glared at him. “Julian, we spend nearly every night together already.”

Bashir stepped back. “Maybe I'm overthinking things, I don't know.” He let out a sigh. “I don't think I can do this, Elim. I'm sorry.”

“Why not?” Garak asked sharply, only to catch himself and take a deliberate breath, forcing his tone into something more neutral. “I'm asking because I want to understand, my dear. Maybe I can put your mind at ease.”

Bashir's eyes darted around uneasily. “That's just it, Elim, there's nothing you can do.” His fingers tapped nervously against the back of the PADD. “Since Palis, I...I've never...” He let out a forceful breath. “It's just...it's a lot, and I don't know...”

Garak sighed. “Very well. I wouldn't want to force you into something you're unsure about,” Garak surrendered, but his eyes were reexamining the man before him.

Bashir smiled as he set the PADD aside and placed his hand on Garak's upper arm. “Thank you, Elim. I _am_ sorry about this.”

“I understand, Julian,” Garak lied. “Did you get those chocolates I asked for?” Garak hadn't asked for any chocolates. This was a test. His suspicions had been aroused by Bashir's sudden change of heart in regards to moving combined with his sudden reluctance to explain or discuss why.

Bashir winced then offered him an apologetic smile. “It completely slipped my mind. Can I make it up to you? Maybe dinner? Dessert? It's the least I can do.”

Garak smiled as if he was charmed by the offer. “I would be delighted, my dear, but I'm afraid I have an urgent commission that will keep me for most of the night.”

“I suppose it can't be helped,” Bashir sighed. “Tomorrow, then?”

“I'll let you know,” Garak answered. Then he reached up to Bashir's face and pulled him into a tender kiss. “I love you, Julian.” His words were a secret pledge. He loved Bashir, and if there was something wrong with his beloved, Garak would discover it.

“I love you too,” Bashir replied, and, with a smile, he left.

Alone, Garak weighed his options. While he had his suspicions, he doubted he could convince anyone else to believe that something was wrong with Bashir based on one change of heart, a reluctance to discuss potential problems in their relationship, and a request for chocolates that had never actually happened. This meant he was on his own for the foreseeable future. He would have to approach this very carefully.

–

Bashir had only been imprisoned for maybe a few days, he couldn't tell the passing of time all that well, but already he felt useless. General Martok was highly appreciative of his attentions after each beating he received from the Jem’Hadar, but without even a tricorder there was only so much Bashir could do. To make it all worse, Martok wasn't his only patient. There were several Cardassians and Romulans that Bashir had been treating, head trauma was the most worrying. Martok constantly had fresh wounds, but in many ways that was the least of Bashir’s problems. A bigger problem was Tain. Not only was he dying, he was determined to antagonize everyone around him. Tain’s favorite time to rip apart Bashir was when he was focused on Martok. Bashir wondered if the man was just desperate for attention or if he truly was this cruel. Bashir feared the latter was true.

“You should have seen the look on that Jem’Hadar’s face when I bit into his neck!” Martok laughed heartily as Bashir dabbed at his gouged out eye.

“I must say, you’re the happiest cyclops I’ve ever met.” Bashir smirked. Treating Martok was one of the more pleasant things he actually got to do. The man was stubbornly optimistic.

“Cyclops?” Martok asked.

“A creature from Human mythology. They are massive, incredibly strong, and greatly feared.” Martok smiled. “But they only have one eye.” JBashir sighed. He might have been able to save Martok’s eye if he was in the infirmary. Worse, Bashir _knew_ he would have been able to save it.

“Ah!” Martok grinned. “So they’re handsome too!” He barked and smacked Bashir on the back.

“Honestly, general.” Bashir shook his head with a small smile. “Your joyous attitude is an inspiration to us all.”

“Well, I simply think about my gorgeous wife!” Martok proudly declared. “Sirella is a striking beauty, so commanding and strong!” He lifted his hand up so it would seem as if he was now whispering, but he didn't change his volume at all. “My, when I get back, I'll make sure she missed me."

“She must love you very much.” Bashir said with a small nod.

“Every man needs love to keep his warrior heart beating!” Bashir wasn’t quite sure what that meant, though he liked the sentiment. “Have you got someone waiting for you yourself, doctor?” Bashir blushed slightly.

“Yes.” He smiled sadly, remembering the safety he would always feels when wrapped around Garak.

“Aha!” Martok lit up excitedly. “Tell us about her!” No one else in the cell seemed all that interested in their conversation, until Tain spoke.

“It’s a ‘he’.” Tain corrected with a smug smirk. Bashir cast a glare at Tain. It must have been easy for Tain to come to the correct conclusion, but Bashir hardly wanted his love life mocked by that man.

“Oh?” Martok said, looking at Tain in surprise. “And how do you know him?”

“He doesn't.” Bashir said coldly. “One can’t really know a person if all they do is use them.” He let his glare linger on Tain a moment longer before turning back to Martok with a proud smile. “His name is Elim, and our love is something worthy of your Klingon Operas.” If Tain thought for one second that he would be ashamed of being in love with Elim, he was a fool.

“Careful, doctor.” That annoyingly arrogant Cardassian began. “Klingon love stories tend to end in blood.”

“What better way to end?” Martok genuinely asked as if murder and death were as natural to romance as chocolate and roses. Bashir couldn't help but chuckle a bit at that.

“Need I remind you both that you’ve been replaced by Changelings?” Tain spit, sounding more irritated now. “Your lovers aren’t waiting for you. They’re being wooed by the enemy as we speak, not missing either of you for a second.” That sent a chill down Bashir’s spine. He was right. A Changeling was on DS9 at that very moment, probably lying in bed alongside Garak. The thought was so haunting, Bashir nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Martok laughing loudly.

“Sirella hardly shared a bed with _me!_ ” He cackled, holding his belly as his laughter forced him to lean back. “I doubt a Changeling will do much better!” When his laughter died down he had a smirk on his face. “Not to mention, Klingon lovemaking always has at least a bit of scratching. She’ll have his head if she discovers the truth through his blood.”

“And what about your opera worthy love?” Tain asked Bashir smugly. “Is it so infrequent and violent that you’re not concerned?” Bashir rolled back his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

"Compared to your loneliness? We must appear to make love constantly.” He shrugged as if he were genuinely thinking about it. “As far as blood in the bedroom, well,” Bashir raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Let’s just say I keep a dermal regenerator in the nightstand.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Bashir _did_ keep a dermal regenerator in the nightstand, and there was the one time a bullet made Garak particularly amorous. Of course, Bashir knew he was deluding himself if he thought he could fool the head of the Obsidian Order so easily.

Still, the insinuation seemed to offend Tain’s Cardassian propriety, which only encouraged Martok to describe his wife in an uncomfortable amount of detail. Bashir tried to use the time that Tain was silenced to focus again on treating Martok, but he couldn't help but fear that the love of his life was being seduced and Bashir was unable to do anything about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter are going to weekly instead of biweekly. I hope you guys enjoy~


	32. Still Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x09 - The Ascent through 5x13 - For The Uniform

Garak had managed to put off their dinner for a few days – he'd hoped that the situation might become more apparent and be resolved without any interference on his part – but he couldn't push it any farther without it becoming suspicious, so he arranged to meet the doctor for dinner at the Celestial Cafe. Bashir showed up early, wearing an outfit Garak had made, one of Garak's favorites actually. Garak had chosen to wear a tunic with a wide Cardassian neckline, and the way that Bashir's eyes lingered on his ridges told Garak that he'd made the correct choice.

He observed Bashir carefully throughout their dinner. For the most part there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary: Bashir's smile was as charming as ever, his wit was quick, and his hand was warm. In fact, by the end of the dinner Garak almost found himself willing to believe that his earlier suspicions were mistaken, the result of years of justified paranoia. And yet, as they strolled hand in hand back to Bashir's quarters, there was something that was bothering Garak.

“So,” Bashir purred as they stood outside his door, “are you coming in?”

Garak smiled apologetically and shook his head. “My dear, if you think a nice dinner is all that it will take to get me to forgive you for leading me on about us moving in together, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you.”

Bashir smiled seductively. “Perhaps I could earn your forgiveness in another way?”

“While the offer is noted, I don't think I'll be in the mood until my annoyance with you clears.” Or until Garak could determine what was bothering him.

“Can't blame me for trying,” Bashir said sheepishly. “But I can accept that.” He caressed Garak's cheek and leaned down to press a quick kiss to Garak's lips.

It was then that Garak realized what it was that had been bothering him. Bashir had a tendency to lean slightly, especially when he was off-duty, but he had stood completely straight this entire evening. It was a small detail, the kind of thing that only someone as paranoid and close to Bashir as Garak would have noticed. Furthermore, Bashir was willing to let Garak go without suggesting that they discuss the obvious issue in their relationship: Garak's annoyance over their not moving in together. That was unlike Bashir. The man liked to head off possible issues before they became actual problems.

Bashir smiled as he broke the kiss. “I love you, Elim. I'll see you soon?”

“Of course, my dear,” Garak promised easily. After all, he still had yet to determine what exactly was wrong with Bashir. “I love you too.”

With that Bashir entered his quarters and Garak went to return to his own.

–

Several days after their dinner, Bashir cheerfully strolled into Garak's shop holding a PADD.

“Hello, Elim,” he greeted. “I was hoping for your professional opinion on something.”

Garak raised an eye ridge as Bashir handed him the PADD. On the screen was information about the new Starfleet uniform design. Garak let out a long-suffering sigh. “I see Starfleet continues its campaign against good design.” He looked up at Bashir. “I assume you're still not allowed to accessorize...?” Bashir chuckled and shook his head. “A pity,” Garak continued. “I think a gold scarf would look lovely on you. It would set off your eyes beautifully, not to mention help conceal any love bites you miss with the dermal regenerator.”

“Does that mean you've forgiven me enough to give me some?” Bashir's expression turned sultry.

“Perhaps,” Garak said lightly, crossing back to his work table and flicking through the images on the PADD. “Would you like me to tailor your dress uniform?”

“If you wouldn't mind,” Bashir said with a smile.

“Not at all,” Garak dismissed. “It's a delight to work with a model as lovely as you.”

Bashir blushed. “I'll replicate one and bring it by first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Make sure to make the pants extra long,” Garak said, a plan forming in his mind. “There's nothing worse than a short inseam.”

Bashir chuckled as he left.

–

As promised, Bashir appeared the next morning with the dress uniform in hand. Garak smiled and ushered him into the changing room. Garak waited patiently for Bashir to switch clothes and smiled when he emerged. While Garak still found the uniform itself rather uninspiring, he did have to admit the white jacket with gold details worked wonderfully with Bashir's complexion and the jacket's cut was quite flattering on him as well.

Garak quickly busied himself, marking the adjustments he wanted to make, and the stepping back to check them over. The jacket required very little alteration and the undershirt required none at all, but the pants would need to be hemmed, just as Garak had requested. Garak knelt down, marked where he wanted the final length to be and then switched to his laser cutter. Normally he would wait for the garment in question to be off the wearer before he began cutting, but this was part of his plan. He started to cut the extra fabric off of the pant leg and then angled the cutter so that it sliced Bashir's leg. Bashir yelped and Garak immediately switched the tool off.

“My dear, I'm so sorry,” Garak apologized, standing up and rushing back to his workbench, where he kept a dermal regenerator for exactly this kind of accident. As he wrapped his hand around Bashir's leg, ostensibly to steady it, his thumb swiped across some of the blood dripping from the wound. He quickly ran the regenerator over the cut and it disappeared. He pulled the regenerator away and stood again, looking at Bashir nervously.

Bashir gave a hesitant smile and gently caressed Garak's cheek. “It's alright, Elim. There was no harm done.” His expression turned slightly teasing. “Though I insist on changing out of these pants before you start cutting them again.”

Garak smiled. “I suppose that's only fair.” He quickly glanced at the blood still staining his thumb. “At least we know you're not a Changeling,” he joked lightly. Garak knew that the blood test was fairly easy to fool, it would have to be considering that the Changeling posing as Martok had gone undetected for quite a while, and Klingons were very fond of using blood in their rituals.

Instead of pointing out the vulnerabilities in the test, Bashir smiled wider and chuckled. “That's true,” he replied.

Garak suppressed a frown and instead pressed a kiss to Bashir's cheek. “Don't worry, my love,” he murmured. “I would notice if you were replaced.” Garak's suspicions had solidified, something had replaced his lover, and Garak was determined to find out what had happened to the real Julian Bashir.

–

Martok had again been taken for another savage beating. Bashir supposed the constant fighting could actually be good for Martok’s morale, especially since Klingons were meant to kill themselves upon capture, but it was horrifying to see him abused each day. The Romulan woman would often watch the fights so that she could immediately assist Martok back to the cell, and Bashir wasn’t exactly sure where the Breen had gone off to. He did know that he was now left alone with Tain. He could leave the cell, stretch his legs for a bit, but Tain was incredibly sick so leaving him by himself was ill-advised. Instead, Bashir wordlessly began to take Tain’s pulse. It wasn’t good.

“Tell me, doctor.” Tain said, breaking the silence. “You seem to know who I am and I obviously know who you are, did Garak tell you of our connection?” It was a surprisingly natural question with no masked insults or overconfidence. Bashir figured he might as well repay that with a straight answer.

“You were his mentor. Head of the Obsidian Order.” He sighed, knowing that wasn’t really an answer to knowing the connection between Tain and Garak. “I can only imagine you trained him yourself." Then the smug smile returned to Tain’s face, warning Bashir that Tain was definitely not going to behave anytime soon.

“You knowingly bed an agent of the Order?” The bluntness when regarding sex would be incredibly rude in Cardassian culture, though it didn’t offend Bashir that much, he knew that was Tain’s intention. “That hardly seems appropriate for a Starfleet officer.”

“More often than not, _he_ beds _me_.” Bashir smirked. If Tain thought he could make Bashir uncomfortable, he was going to be made uncomfortable as well.

“And I suppose you’ll overlook any past sins in the name of  _ love _ ?” Tain said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Bashir said nothing. “Doctor, Elim is incapable of loving you. Of loving anyone.”  _ That  _ pissed Bashir off.

“It sounds like you’re projecting.” Bashir bit back. Of course, showing his annoyance only made Tain smile.

“Am I?” He chuckled. “The man was undyingly loyal to me. You think a proud Cardassian, my loyal agent, could ever fall in love with a  _ Human _ ?" Tain made a fatal mistake. Bashir certainly had insecurities, but he not only knew that Garak really loved him, he knew that the fact that he was human hardly mattered.

“Stranger things have happened.” Bashir grinned. “For example, would you have thought a human would be treating the head of the Obsidian Order while discussing his love life?” Not only had Bashir never thought it a possibility, he certainly never wanted it to be one, yet here they were.

“He doesn't know how to love.” Tain continued, undeterred. “Don't you understand that? He was never taught. That's what made him so useful.” The term “useful” to describe Garak made Bashir’s blood boil. It was like he was a tool or something that could be thrown away at one’s convenience. Meanwhile, Bashir knew that Garak was irreplaceable.

“Yes, well,” Bashir sniffed as he began to walk back to his bunk. “I've been supplementing his education personally.”

“How noble of you.” Tain scoffed. “Elim said you loved lost causes. That’s what made you so easy for him to manipulate.”

“Well, in that case, it sounds like you’re going to pull through.” Bashir sighed. “Because you say I love lost causes, but I certainly can’t stand you.”

–

“Julian should be joining us for lunch today,” Garak commented off-hand to Ziyal as the two stood in line at the Replimat.

She smiled. “Does that mean you two are getting along again?” Garak gave a non-committal shrug. Ziyal sighed. “I don't understand why Doctor Bashir changed his mind about moving in with you like that. He seemed so excited about it before.”

“You _can_ call him Julian, you know,” Garak stated. “He won't mind.” This was the set up for yet another test, and Garak's way of double-checking that he wasn't being paranoid. Bashir certainly wouldn't mind Ziyal calling him by his given name, but, since he'd never invited her to, the real Julian Bashir would show some surprise. It was the kind of detail that an impostor likely wouldn't bother learning.

“You're sure?” Ziyal asked tentatively, but she was smiling.

“Of course,” Garak replied lightly.

They got their meals and went to their usual table. It wasn't long before Bashir joined them, all warm smiles and fervent apologies for his lateness. He gave Garak a questioning glance, and Garak allowed a quick peck on the cheek before Bashir sat down in the empty seat.

Ziyal, of course, was friendly as always and returned Bashir's greetings with a quick “I'm glad you could join us, Julian.”

Garak closely examined his presumed-lover's face for any hint of the surprise or guilt he would expect Bashir to reveal, even for a brief moment, but there was nothing. The conversation continued around him, but, even as Garak absently engaged with his two companions, his mind was already analyzing this latest bit of information. There was no doubt in his mind now that the Julian Bashir before him was an impostor, an excellent one, certainly, one that could easily fool the station and was close enough to keep Garak unsure for weeks, but Garak had been an agent of the Obsidian Order and this was his lover, a man he paid careful attention to.

Garak felt a chill run through him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the station or the lack of Bashir's warmth in his bed at night. If Garak was going to get the information he wanted, namely any hint to the impostor's purpose or any idea of what had happened to the real Julian Bashir, he was going to have to get the impostor alone. Considering that he and Bashir had been intimately involved for ages, it was very likely he'd have to sleep with the impostor to avoid arousing suspicion.

–

“You realize how ridiculous this sounds?” Odo asked after Garak finished explaining his suspicions.

“Of course,” Garak said, rolling his eyes. “I recognize that I come across as a paranoid jilted lover, but Odo, you know that I'm careful and observant, and this is Julian, someone I know as well as you know the Promenade.” Odo nodded begrudgingly. “I wouldn't bring this to your attention if I wasn't serious about this. I recognize I might be overreacting, but that's why I'm telling you.”

Odo sighed. “I suppose you would know Doctor Bashir's habits better than anyone else.”

Garak smiled with relief. “I'm going to visit him in his quarters tonight. If you don't hear from me tomorrow...”

“Assume you were right and that things have gone horribly awry?” Odo asked with a hint of resigned amusement. Garak simply nodded. Odo let out a huff, but his expression softened into something slightly more sympathetic. “Would you like me to accompany you?” he asked. “I'm no longer a solid, I could easily disguise myself and slip inside when you do.”

“We can't risk it,” Garak answered, shaking his head. He attempted a joking smile, but it came out pained. “Besides, if I'm wrong things might get a little...intimate.”

Odo nodded. “Alright, Garak. I'll follow your lead.”

“Thank you, Constable,” Garak said, gratefully, before hurrying out of the security office.

–

Garak nervously straightened the neckline of his tunic before keying the code into the panel beside the door to Bashir's quarters. The old code still worked. He'd half expected to be forced to use old Cardassian overrides, but it seemed that the Bashir he was dealing with had decided to keep up appearances.

The door slid open with a soft whoosh, and Garak quietly stepped over the threshold. The main room was deserted and dark. Garak looked around quickly, unsure how long he'd have to search the room. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Even Kukalaka remained in his spot on the shelf, watching the room. Garak frowned at the stuffed toy. Considering the kind of person that Bashir was, Garak would have expected the man to try to find some comfort by cuddling his beloved companion while Bashir and Garak were fighting. Then again, Bashir tended to try to hide things that he considered childish, and his affection for Kukalaka was no exception, so it wasn't so unusual to think that Bashir would keep the bear on the shelf even if he was cuddling it every night.

There was some noise from the bedroom and the bedroom door itself soon slid open, causing Garak to turn around. Bashir, or at least his impostor, stood silhouetted in the lit doorway, wearing his blue striped pajamas.

“Who's there?” Bashir asked, peering into the dark. “Elim, is that you?”

“Hello, my dear,” Garak purred, sidling closer to Bashir, who began to laugh.

“You surprised me. I wasn't expecting company,” Bashir teased.

“I hope I didn't wake you,” Garak said, looking the impostor up and down, searching for any kind of flaw.

Bashir smiled. “Not at all. I was just catching up on some medical journals before bed.” Garak simply smiled back. “Was there something in particular you wanted?” Bashir asked.

“Oh, no,” Garak replied quickly, his hand lightly touching Bashir's arm. “We've both been a little distant lately, and I thought I'd check on you. Just a whim really.” Garak deliberately did not look at Bashir's face, keeping his attention focused on the subtle cues of his body language.

“A whim?” Bashir echoed. Garak could hear the smile in his voice. “Elim, you can just say that you were feeling lonely. You don't have to play games with me.” One of Bashir's hands slid to Garak's waist, and the other moved to his shoulder.

“You like the games,” Garak murmured as he moved his hand from Bashir's arm to his back, grabbing the fabric of the older man's pajamas in a brief moment of nervousness that could easily be played off as anticipation.

Bashir chuckled as he moved his face closer, his breath dancing past Garak's ear as he leaned in. “I do,” he admitted easily.

Garak mentally braced himself. They could only keep dancing around each other to a point, and that was a point that they were rapidly approaching. He was going to have to follow through with his implications and sleep with the impostor, and then, once the impostor had fallen asleep, he could search Bashir's quarters more freely. If that searched proved fruitless, there was always the more direct method of interrogation, but that would mean revealing his suspicions to the impostor. But perhaps the impostor would give something away during the seduction itself. After all, while real spy craft was not nearly as full of sex and romance as Bashir's secret agent holoprogram, this would not be the first time Garak used seduction to get information.

Garak turned his head, easily capturing Bashir's lips in a kiss, but though it was tender, the kiss remained chaste, neither one of them escalated it. Instead each of them seemed to be almost trying to surrender the lead to the other.

An awkward chuckle escaped Bashir as the kiss ended. Garak stood at a crossroads. He could move forward with the seduction, trusting that the real Bashir would easily forgive the action as one of necessity... Or he could abandon his plan and soothe the ache in his chest that grew worse at the thought of taking this impostor to bed, accepting that he was too compromised by his love for Bashir to fully engage in his old occupation, even if it was to save his beloved doctor.

“My dear,” Garak said softly, his hand reaching up to caress Bashir's face, “I think we can both agree that neither of us is truly in the mood for sex tonight.”

“If _you_ want-” Bashir began sheepishly, but he stopped when Garak's thumb brushed over his lips.

“All _I_ want is to be close to you, Julian.” Garak smiled up at Bashir as he stepped closer and pressed another tender but not seductive kiss to Bashir's lips. “You and I both know that we're not having nearly as much sex as people seem to think.”

Bashir's expression warmed and softened as he pulled Garak into a proper embrace. Garak breathed deeply, opening his mouth slightly to allow himself to taste the air. The impostor was nearly perfect, his scent was almost identical to the real Bashir's, but there was something minutely off about it. It lacked a natural mammalian warmth that Garak could only just taste the absence of, and even then he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking for it.

“Maybe we could just go to sleep together?” Garak suggested quietly. “I will admit, I've missed lying beside you, wrapped in your arms or with you wrapped in mine...” It was possible that he could still salvage some of this, or at least minimize the impostor's suspicions. “I've missed you so much, my dear.”

“I've missed you too, Elim.” Bashir pulled them into the bedroom, but the action was as chaste as most of their interactions this evening had been.

–

Garak awoke the next morning feeling better rested than he had in weeks. He cracked his eyes open and recognized the trappings of Bashir's bedroom. He let himself relax back into the otherwise empty bed.

_I do always sleep better with Julian,_ he thought, turning his head and catching Bashir's scent on the cool pillow. He almost let out a wistful sigh before an unpleasant realization occurred to him. The man he had fallen asleep beside the previous night was not Julian Bashir, but the impostor.

Only Garak's training kept him from bolting upright. Instead, he leisurely stretched and examined the room around him. Bashir was nowhere to be seen, but there was a PADD on the nightstand that hadn't been there the previous night. With a wariness that he didn't let show, Garak slid across the bed toward the nightstand and picked up the PADD.

It displayed a simple message:  _Elim, I had to go to work, but you looked so peaceful that I didn't want to wake you. Love, Julian._

Garak frowned as he replaced the PADD on the nightstand. Under other circumstances he would have found the message comforting, but in this moment it caused a shiver to run down his spine. Falling asleep beside the impostor was one thing, he'd needed to maintain the illusion that he still believed the impostor was truly Julian Bashir, but he'd let himself get lost in his longing for his lover and forget for a moment, letting his guard down when he could least afford to.

So far, this whole plan had led to only uncomfortable truths for Garak. Other than once again solidifying his belief that Bashir had been replaced, Garak hadn't managed to learn anything. Even worse, it was his love for Bashir that had compromised him so badly. Garak's sentimental attachment to the man was what had prevented him from pursuing all options to discover the truth about what had happened to him.

Garak suppressed his inner turmoil, got out of the bed, and changed from his warm pajamas to a set of clothing that he kept in Bashir's closet. He ignored the urge to let out a melancholy sigh and instead quickly searched Bashir's quarters for any proper sign that something was amiss.

Emerging from Bashir's quarters empty-handed, he made his way to the security office.

“Odo,” Garak began before realizing that he wasn't sure what to say beyond reasserting the suspicions he'd expressed the previous day.

“Garak,” Odo greeted. “I take it last night didn't go as you planned.”

“What makes you say that?” Garak asked, his focus suddenly sharpened. He'd thought he'd managed to hide his disappointment.

Odo let out an amused huff. “I've kept a close enough eye on you over the years that I can usually tell when you're upset about something. I doubt most people would notice. Though, of course, I have the advantage of having seen some of what happened last night.” Odo smirked. Some of Garak's discomfort must have shown on his face because Odo quickly added, “I left when you went into the bedroom.” Garak allowed himself to grimace. Odo gave a sympathetic sigh. “I believe you. Doctor Bashir is not himself.”

“Watch him closely,” Garak said. “The impostor is here for a reason.”

Odo nodded. “I'll monitor him, you don't have to do anything more. I  _do_ have to inform Captain Sisko.” Garak nodded reluctantly. It was time to let Starfleet know what was going on. “Garak, assuming we  _are_ dealing with an impostor and not simply something overriding the doctor's personality, we may not be able to recover him.” Odo hesitated, then spoke again, his tone grim. “There may not be anything to recover.”

“I know,” Garak said solemnly. “If it comes to that, I'll have to settle for revenge.”

“Doctor Bashir wouldn't want that,” Odo reminded quietly.

“True,” Garak admitted. “But in that case Julian won't be able to stop me.”

Odo sighed. “Be careful, Garak.”

“I will.” With that Garak left the security office.

–

Bashir had been keeping lookout while Tain worked when his enhanced hearing picked up the sound of Jem’Hadar marching towards them, the lighter footsteps indicated they had a Vorta with them as well. Bashir's mind quickly considered his options: He and Tain were alone, and while the Jem’Hadar could likely be convinced that Tain had decided to go for a walk, the Vorta would probably be harder to convince, especially since Tain’s weakened condition was no secret. He tapped lightly on the wall to get Tain’s attention.

“Jem’Hadar and a Vorta heading this way. I'll do what I can to stall them,” Bashir announced quickly. If Tain decided to wonder how he knew that, well, Cardassian hearing wasn't as keen as Human. He'd use that and that being in the wall dampened Tain’s hearing further as his excuse.

There were three knocks from Tain to signal that he understood, then Bashir left the cell. He tried to act as casually as he could before spotting the Vorta and springing into action.

“Excuse me,” Bashir said, walking over to the Vorta, who was flanked by Jem’Hadar. He stood so that he partially blocked the hallway. “Excuse me, I have a complaint.” The Vorta visibly resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but he and the Jem’Hadar did come to a halt. “You've cut our rations.”

“Yes, and?” the Vorta asked.

“And?! Tain is sick. He needs more food, not less!” Bashir deliberately left out that Tain was almost certainly going to die, with or without more food. “Furthermore, Martok is out there fighting the Jem’Hadar every day and I don't have the ability to do much more than very primitive field medicine. At the very least, he needs food and rest if he's going to continue to serve as a punching bag!”

The Vorta let out a sigh that was just this side of exasperated. “Whether they survive or not is no concern of the Dominion.” He tried to move past Bashir, but Bashir moved to head him off. His enhanced hearing could just make out Tain struggling out of the wall. He needed to buy more time.

“How can you act so coldly?!” Bashir demanded, knowing all too well that his outburst would not, could not change the Vorta’s mind, but he had to give Tain enough time to conceal the crawlspace. “These are people’s lives at stake! As a doctor, I cannot stand by while you carelessly sentence them to their deaths.”

“The Founders are not concerned with your lives,” the Vorta replied dismissively, “therefore, your lives do not matter.” He again started to move, but Bashir couldn’t let him past, not yet. Not when Tain was still struggling to slide the cot back into place.

“Then the Founders are worthless gods!” Bashir declared, surprised at the venom in his own voice. “Any god that doesn’t at least care about lives is a worthless one. All the Founders care about is expanding their own power at the expense of others!”

The Vorta, who up until now had been simply been cool and dismissive suddenly glared sharply and made a quick gesture. Two Jem’Hadar stepped forward and grabbed Bashir’s arms, holding him.

“Gods don't owe you their compassion any more than we owe you food,” the Vorta said, a harsh edge to his voice. “You’ll have time to reflect on this while you’re in solitary.”

Bashir didn’t struggle as the Jem’Hadar led him through the prison camp, past the arena where Martok was fighting. He didn’t struggle as they threw him into the small cell. He’d bought Tain the time he needed, that was what mattered.

As Bashir sat on the cot, he let out a sigh. _Oh, Elim,_ he thought, _I hope Tain can contact you soon. I need you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going back to a biweekly schedule again, so the next chapter will be up in two weeks.


	33. In Purgatory's Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x14 - In Purgatory's Shadow

It was only a few days after the conversation with Odo that Garak was called to Ops, pulling him away from his lunch with Ziyal and the impostor posing as Bashir.

Sisko gave him a long suspicious look when Garak claimed that the message was a five-year old planetary survey report, but in the end he accepted it. While it was possible that Bashir's replacement was a Changeling spy and that the real Bashir was a Dominion prisoner alongside Tain, at this moment Tain was the only prisoner whose identity Garak knew for sure. Starfleet likely wouldn't care enough to send the Defiant into Dominion space to rescue the disgraced former head of the Obsidian Order. Garak would have to mount his rescue attempt on his own and hope for the best. If he told them what the message had actually contained, it would only make it harder for him to steal a runabout later.

Garak hurried back to where he'd left Ziyal with the impostor in the Replimat. He told them the same thing he'd told the crew in Ops: the message was an old planetary survey report, nothing more.

“I would have thought you'd be a little disappointed, too,” the impostor suggested. “After all, it could have been from one of the survivors of the Cardassian fleet that was lost in the Gamma Quadrant.” Under other circumstances Garak would have pulled Bashir aside, told him just enough information to intrigue him, and then invited him along, but these were not those circumstances and this was not Bashir.

“Oh, I'd given up hope of ever finding any trace of them long ago,” Garak lied and smiled warmly at Bashir. “Besides, I'm quite pleased with how things have worked out since then.” Bashir blushed and smiled back. It would have been quite charming if it were real.

“Really? I never saw you as the giving up type,” Ziyal said curiously.

Garak smiled, deflected, then made his excuses and left. He'd hoped that he'd managed to convince the impostor that he'd given up, but when a chair in the runabout he'd been in the process of stealing spun around to reveal Bashir holding a phaser, he realized that he'd been being overly optimistic in the exact way he'd chided Bashir for being many times.

Garak was almost grateful when the impostor led him to Captain Sisko's office rather than simply killing him in the runabout. If the impostor had been anyone besides Bashir it would have been easy enough for Garak to request that he be allowed to speak to Sisko alone, but for Garak to so blatantly keep something secret from Bashir would raise too much suspicion to risk it. Instead Garak was forced to reveal to Sisko, as he had revealed to the impostor, that the message had been a cry for help from Tain and convey the rest of the possibilities, that the real Doctor Bashir could be being held in the same prison with Tain, through implication and innuendo. Fortunately, Garak was quite good at implication and innuendo.

“I'm still not totally convinced that it's a genuine message. But I suppose there's only one way to find out,” Sisko conceded.

“Ben, you can't let him go,” the impostor protested. “It's too dangerous.” That was a daring move. The real Bashir would have accepted that there was little he could do to stop Garak, especially when Tain was involved.

“Your concern is touching, my dear, but I assure you I can take care of myself.” Garak smiled fondly at the impostor. The more the impostor tried to stop him, the more convinced Garak became that the real Bashir had been replaced by the Dominion and that the Doctor Bashir on the station was a Changeling.

“Maybe you can, but you're still not going alone,” Sisko stated.

Garak didn't speak. He simply raised his eye ridges before glancing at the impostor, who wore a soft look of shock as he looked back at Garak.

“Ben, I-” The impostor's protests were cut off by Sisko himself.

“Not you, Julian. I have someone else in mind.”

–

Since Garak had some time while Worf prepared to leave, he tracked down Ziyal where she was sitting with Jake at a table in Quark's. Garak gave her a bare bones explanation of where he was going and why.

“Don't worry,” he said, hoping to reassure her as her expression fell. “I fully intend to return.”

“You'd better,” Ziyal challenged, a determined look on her face. “I think Julian would find me a poor substitute for Cardassian opinions.” Garak chuckled. If they had been alone, this would have been a natural point for Garak to warn Ziyal to be wary of the doctor. But they weren't alone and telling her would have been a risk anyway.

“He'll be with Worf the entire time, Ziyal,” Jake chimed in. “You know Worf won't let him do anything too reckless. He won't even let Nog and I touch his Bat'leth.”

“Ziyal, no matter what happens, no matter how bleak things may look, I promise you I will come back. You have my word.” Garak held up his hand.

Ziyal pressed her palm to his and whispered, “I believe you.”

The serene moment was shattered by a voice bellowing “Don't you touch my daughter!” followed by Dukat storming over and pulling Garak away from Ziyal, leaning him over the balcony's railing. “Is your Federation _pet_ not enough? Touch my daughter again and I'll kill you,” Dukat sneered as Ziyal pleaded with him to let Garak go.

Garak didn't bother correcting Dukat's misconception about his relationship with Ziyal. He'd been hoping for some way to release some of the tension he'd built up dealing with Bashir's impostor. Taunting Dukat would serve quite well.

“Go ahead, kill me,” he dared, smirking. “She'll never forgive you, you know.”

The look of unconcealed hatred on Dukat's face served as a worthy reward before Quark came along and, aided by Ziyal's concerned pleas, convinced Dukat to lift Garak back up and release him.

“A pleasure as always,” Garak said warmly to Ziyal, knowing that it would only rile Dukat up more. “You do have a lovely daughter. She must take after her mother.” With that parting remark, Garak left for the runabout and the Gamma Quadrant.

–

Worf was clearly not happy to be traveling with Garak, not that this came as much of a surprise. Worf blamed Garak for the end of his relationship with Jadzia. Garak felt that all he'd done was point out the problems that already existed. Garak decided to have a bit of fun and practice his lying at the same time. He began to weave a tale about wanting to apply to Starfleet Academy, but needing a sponsor for his application since he was not a Federation citizen.

“Why not ask Doctor Bashir?” Worf growled.

Garak chuckled lightly. “Obviously Julian would happily sponsor my application, but I was hoping to surprise him. And besides, getting my lover to sponsor me doesn't say nearly as much as getting someone as skeptical and discerning as you as my sponsor.” This path seemed to be working, so Garak continued to press down it, describing how joining Starfleet would offer him an opportunity to atone for his past misdeeds and make up for the damage he had done.

“If that is how you feel, I will consider your request,” Worf conceded grudgingly.

“That's all I ask.” Garak smiled. “Frankly, I think I can be quite an asset to Starfleet. With my extensive experience I could skip the lower ranks entirely and begin my career as a Commander. Maybe you should suggest that in your letter? Tell them you'd be honored to serve under me.” This pushed the point too far.

“Do not play games with me. You have no desire to join Starfleet, do you?” Worf demanded.

Garak admitted his lie and explained that his deception was because he wanted to maintain his skill at lying. Worf gruffly told him to practice on someone else.

Recognizing that he would get no more entertainment out of Worf for the foreseeable future, Garak went back to the replicator, looking through the menu for a kind of tea that he would actually enjoy, since red leaf tea wasn't an option. There was Tarkalean, which Garak had developed a sort of appreciation for since it was Bashir's favorite, but Garak wasn't really in the mood for Tarkalean. He absently looked through the menu until he spotted another one of Bashir's preferred tea varieties: English Breakfast. Bashir tended to drink this one when he was feeling sad or wistful and wanted some simple comfort. Garak watched as a mug slowly appeared in the replicator. Cautiously, he took a sip. It wasn't exactly what Garak wanted from tea, but it was soothing.

“We've just dropped out of warp,” Garak noted, looking up with a frown. “Is there something wrong?”

“We can go no further,” Worf stated firmly.

“What do you mean?” Garak prompted, digging for information.

“My readings indicate the source of that coded signal is deep in Dominion space. I have strict orders to avoid unnecessary risk. We must turn back.”

Garak frowned. He couldn't give up the search yet, not when Tain and possibly Bashir were at the source of that signal. “Well I certainly don't want to take an unnecessary risk, but our sensors show no sign of Jem'Hadar warships in this area.”

“True. But the likelihood of contact will increase from this point on, and my orders were very clear.”

“Ah yes, and as your relationship with Jadzia proved, you can't fathom bending a rule,” Garak taunted with a smirk. Worf turned and glared at him. “Why don't we go through this nebula?” Garak suggested quickly. “We can avoid detection and get light years closer to the source of the transmission.”

“Our shields would be useless in that nebula,” Worf countered.

“But so would Jem'Hadar sensors,” Garak pointed out. “The answer is out there, Commander. We just have to have the courage to find it. And remember, it's not just Tain we're looking for. The Maryland, the Proxima, the Sarajevo. Starfleet ships that have been lost in the Gamma Quadrant for years, and their crews, brave soldiers, warriors of the Federation unaccounted for. We owe it to them to do everything in our power to find them and bring them home. It's the honorable thing to do.”

“You once told me that you had no honor.” Worf's frown somehow deepened. “You use that word, but you have no idea what it means.”

“Maybe not,” Garak replied lightly, “but _you_ do.”

That taunt managed to work. Worf flew the runabout into the nebula, only for them to discover a fleet of Jem'Hadar ships. They managed to transmit at least part of a message before they were boarded and captured. They were taken to a Dominion internment camp, where a Jem'Hadar appraised them of their new status as prisoners and left them alone with a Klingon, Worf identified him as General Martok, who had been fighting in a ring in the center of the room.

The three of them, the two Klingons and the one Cardassian, exchanged some pleasantries until Martok said, “If you are Worf, then you must be Garak.” A hint of a smile appeared on the Klingon's face. “We've been expecting you.” Martok lead them from the main room to a hallway.

“We?” Garak asked, keeping the eagerness out of his voice. Martok simply chuckled and brought them into a barracks that held eight beds, two Romulans, one Breen, and a fourth figure lying on a bunk.

“Tain,” Garak whispered. He'd found him. He could see if Bashir was being held here later, for now, Garak's father needed him. “Tain. Tain, I'm here.” He knelt at the man's bedside.

“My message. It got through?” Tain asked.

“It did.”

“Where are the others?” Tain was disappointed, of course. He'd likely expected to be rescued by the new head of the Obsidian Order, not an exile who was surprisingly content with his tailoring work.

“There are no others. Just Commander Worf and me. The Order doesn't exist anymore.”

Tain didn't seem shocked by this news, but then Garak had always found Tain hard to read. “You allowed yourselves to be taken prisoner? I taught you better than that. Exile and that doctor have dulled your wits.”

Garak repressed his surprise. Tain shouldn't have known about his exile or his resumed relationship with Doctor Bashir. Both of those things happened after Tain had seemingly died during his failed attack on the Founders' planet.

Instead, Garak displayed his annoyance with Tain's treatment of him. “That's it? After I've come all this way, after all I've been through, that's all you have to say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say thank you, Elim. Your loyalty is most gratifying. I knew I could count on you.”

“But I couldn't count on you, could I? All you've done is to doom us both.”

Garak bit back a frustrated snarl and stalked back to Martok and Worf, where the general was explaining the setup of the camp and how Tain had managed to send out his message.

At some point one of the Romulans had slipped out of the barracks, but now she returned and, with a sly look at Garak, she announced to Martok “They're releasing him from isolation.”

The news instantly lit up the general's face. “Good.”

“Who?” Worf asked.

Martok chuckled. “A friend,” he replied with a smile directed at Garak.

Martok and the Romulan headed back into the main room of the camp. Worf and Garak exchanged a glance and then followed them.

A Jem'Hadar guard shoved a Federation officer into the light of the main room. Garak couldn't believe how happy he was to see the blue-green shoulders of that drab uniform as Bashir's head raised and he blinked while his eyes adjusted to the change in light. Garak couldn't hear Bashir say anything, but he could see the man's mouth form a single word: Elim.

“Julian!” Garak exclaimed with a smile. Suddenly Bashir had crossed the distance between them. Arms wrapped around each other as they eagerly embraced. Murmurs of “Elim, my love” and “Julian, my dear” escaped their lips as they desperately clung to each other.

Martok loudly cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“Doctor, the test,” Martok reminded.

Bashir blinked owlishly before recognition flitted across his face. “The test! Right,” he said. He pulled himself away from Garak, though as consolation he took the Cardassian's hand and tangled their fingers together in the Cardassian style.

The group returned to the barracks, where Bashir dropped Garak's hand, retrieved a sharp piece of metal, and pierced the tip of his finger, drawing blood. Everyone watched with baited breath as the blood stayed red.

“B negative, in case you were wondering,” Bashir quipped, unable to keep an incongruous smile off his face.

Garak hadn't needed the blood test to know that this was the real Bashir. His warmth felt more varied and more real. His scent, while mixed with the build up of several days of grime, had a certain indescribable something that the impostor's had lacked. And, Garak wasn't sure if this was real or his imagination, but he would swear that this Bashir's eyes sparkled just a little bit brighter. Regardless, he did appreciate the blood test being performed anyway.

“Well, it appears we are all who we seem to be,” Martok said with a satisfied nod.

“If the blood screenings can be trusted,” Worf pointed out.

Bashir shrugged. “It's all we've got.”

Garak frowned as a thought occurred to him. “What about the others? Have they been tested?”

“Everyone except that Breen,” Bashir replied. “No blood.”

“You were taken from that conference on Meezan IV?” Garak asked, just to confirm his theory.

Bashir blinked in surprise, but then nodded. “You noticed,” he whispered, as if he could barely believe it.

“I _did_ promise you, my dear.” Garak stepped forward and cupped Bashir's cheek, staring into the eyes of the man he'd been missing for over a month. Bashir smiled before quickly drawing Garak into another embrace. Garak sighed. “I love you, Julian.”

A scoff from nearby ruined the moment. Garak didn't have to look around to know who had made the noise. Not only had he displayed the degree of his affection for Bashir in front of Tain, he'd completely forgotten that the other Cardassian was in the room.

Bashir, sensing Garak's discomfort, pulled away, but he once again took Garak's hand. He leaned close and whispered “Come with me” in Garak's ear, before leading them out of the barracks into the hallway. Bashir brought them around a corner to a dead end.

“Here,” Bashir announced with a wry smile. “It isn't much, but I'm afraid this is as close to private as we can get.”

“I shouldn't have come here,” Garak muttered angrily to himself, his gaze directed at the floor. “I should have let Tain die forgotten and alone.”

Bashir's free hand cupped Garak's jaw and forced him to look into Bashir's warm eyes. “But then I would have died alone too. And while I'd much rather you live, there's a very selfish part of me that is glad you're here.”

Garak didn't speak, instead he closed the distance between them and crashed their lips together in a forceful kiss. Bashir brought Garak with him as he stepped back until Bashir was leaning against the wall. Bashir's mouth opened before Garak's desperate attentions, letting Garak take what he needed until the Cardassian pulled back.

“I love you so much, Elim,” Bashir murmured, his thumb stroking Garak's cheek as he looked at his lover in gentle awe. “You're perfect, do you hear me? Don't let anything Tain says get to you. You're perfect, and I love you.”

Garak smiled uncomfortably, unsure how to take the intense and desperate love Bashir was showing him. “If I was perfect I would have gotten here much sooner,” Garak said, dismissing the compliment. “I would have rescued you weeks ago.”

“But you noticed I'd been replaced,” Bashir breathed. “You noticed.” There were tears welling up in Bashir's eyes, but he blinked them back.

“I knew something was wrong the moment he arrived on the station, but I didn't know exactly what was the matter until very recently.” Garak shook his head. “I don't deserve your praise, my love. The impostor wasn't a perfect copy, and he made several major missteps...but I had to be careful so he wouldn't realize that I suspected him.”

Bashir gave Garak an achingly fond look. “Whatever you had to do, I understand,” he said, bringing Garak back into an embrace. “You knew I'd been replaced. That's enough for me.”

That was how Martok found them: wrapped around each other.

The general cleared his throat to announce his presence. “I thought you might want to know. If you wish to speak to Tain do it now, before it's too late.”

Garak pulled away and nodded, letting Martok lead him back to the barracks with Bashir following closely behind. Martok remained outside the door, but Bashir followed Garak inside, crossing the room to sit on one of the cots.

“Elim?” Tain called. “Elim is that you?” Garak had never heard Tain sound so close to vulnerable before.

“It's me.”

“Everything's gone dark. I can't see you. Are you alone?” Garak glanced at Bashir, who raised an eyebrow, silently asking if he should leave.

“Yes,” Garak lied. “There's no one else but you and me.”

Tain began to go through a list of people to be taken care of, enemies to be eliminated. Garak didn't know the real fate of all of these people, but he lied and told Tain what the older Cardassian wanted to hear: “All your enemies are dead.”

“Good. A man shouldn't allow his enemies to outlive him,” Tain stated.

“Then you can die happy,” Garak replied. Then he added before he could think better of it, “Unless you consider me and Doctor Bashir your enemies.”

Tain ignored Garak's statement. “Elim, promise me one thing.”

The one thing Tain wanted Garak to promise was that he would escape and get revenge against the Dominion on his behalf. Garak tried to coax Tain into acknowledging him, as much for Bashir's ears as for his own, and mentally cursed his father's stubbornness when he refused to do so. He managed to get a roundabout acknowledgment and a shared remembrance of the only day that Tain had allowed Garak to actually  _be_ his son. It was the best Garak could have hoped for.

Garak stood and used the blanket to cover his father's corpse. He didn't realize that Bashir was at his side until Bashir took Garak's hand in his own and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Gentlemen, I don't know about you, but my business here is done,” Garak announced as Worf and Martok entered.

“Then I suggest we find a way out of here,” Worf replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that the prisoners have access to some sort of shaving equipment while they're in the general population, but not while they're in solitary (it explains why Martok's facial hair is still impeccable, but Bashir has some stubble in canon). So Bashir's beard, while in need of a trim, is not yet a complete wreck.
> 
> Also, hey this is the last chapter for the year. See you in 2018!


	34. By Inferno's Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x15 - By Inferno's Light

Bashir led Garak back to the same hallway section from earlier while the Romulan woman went to fetch the Jem'Hadar who would dispose of Tain's body.

“Are you alright?” Bashir asked softly, his hand on Garak's arm.

“I don't know,” Garak said honestly. “It doesn't feel real. Not yet.”

Bashir nodded. “And you'd thought he was dead already. It's a lot to process.”

Garak sighed and leaned against Bashir, enjoying the feeling of his warmth. “There will be plenty of time to mourn once we get back to the station.”

Bashir hummed in agreement. “I only hope my replacement hasn't caused too much trouble.”

“I imagine Odo will take care of him soon enough, if he hasn't already,” Garak murmured. “I told the good constable my suspicions and he felt they had enough merit to inform Captain Sisko.” Bashir pressed a kiss to Garak's cheek.

The sound of Jem'Hadar marching towards the barracks told them that their time was nearly up. Slowly, they separated and made their way back to the barracks just in time to pass the Jem'Hadar leaving.

–

Once the coast was clear, Bashir revealed the opening to the crawlspace that led to the hidden transmitter. While the others discussed the idea of re-encoding the transmitter so that it would contact the runabout and beam them aboard, Garak knelt down and peered into the crawlspace. It was impossible to see, but Garak doubted that it got any larger farther in.

“Re-encoding the transmitter won't be easy,” Garak pointed out. “We'd have to reconfigure the array one circuit at a time.”

“Can you do it?” Bashir asked.

“Me?” Garak's stomach twisted at the thought of working in that narrow passage.

“I'm no engineer and neither is Mister Worf here. You, on the other hand, my dear Elim, are a man of many hidden talents. If you can't do it, nobody can.” Bashir's encouraging smile only made Garak's heart ache more. Bashir was right, objectively Garak knew that. It would take well over a month to teach someone what to do and trying to walk someone else through from outside of the crawlspace would be impossible. There was no other choice.

“It's nice to feel needed,” Garak said uneasily as he looked back at the crawlspace.

He was spared having to actually enter it for the moment by an announcement for all prisoners to assemble in the center room. The hole in the wall was concealed once again, and they made their way out of the barracks. As they lined up, Bashir took Garak's hand once again.

“All Cardassian prisoners step forward,” the Vorta ordered.

Garak glanced questioningly at Bashir who nodded and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Garak stepped forward.

“I am pleased to announce that the hostilities between our peoples have ended. As of today, Cardassia has joined the Dominion. Therefore, you're all being sent home. Congratulations on your new status as Dominion citizens.”

As Garak began to follow the other Cardassians, the Vorta stopped him.

“Not you, Mister Garak.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're staying.”

“Well there must be some of misunderstanding. The last time I checked, I was a Cardassian,” Garak said a little indignantly. Just because he was exiled from Cardassian space, that didn't mean he was no longer a Cardassian.

“But not a very popular one, I'm afraid,” the Vorta replied. “At least not with the head of the new Cardassian government.”

“And who would that be?”

“Gul Dukat.”

–

Back on the station, the rest of the command team had finished watching Dukat's speech and had turned to discussing how their plan to seal the wormhole had been sabotaged.

“Looks like it's time for another round of blood screenings,” Bashir stated. “Obviously we have a changeling infiltrator on the station.”

Sisko let the discussion play out before saying “We can't afford to take any chances. I want blood screenings and phaser sweeps. Doctor, go to security and coordinate with Odo.” As soon as the wardroom was clear, Sisko called security. “Odo, I've sent Doctor Bashir down to you. Contain him and test him. We can't afford anymore sabotage.”

–

Bashir opened the panel as quickly as possible and helped Garak climb out, leading him to sit on a cot.

“That was thoroughly unpleasant,” Garak stated, clearly trying to minimize any appearance of discomfort.

“Are you alright?” Bashir asked, knowing that the real answer was obvious from the tension he could sense in his lover's body.

“I am fine. It's just much hotter in there than I thought. I got a little lightheaded.” Garak was lying, trying to weave enough words into a tapestry that would keep Bashir from pressing any further. Bashir didn't even wait for Garak to finish before pressing his fingers to Garak's temple to check his pulse. “Give me a minute and I'll go back in there,” Garak promised.

“No, you need more than a minute. Your pulse is racing.” Bashir frowned. “I don't want to think about your blood pressure. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow.” He absently ran his fingers through Garak's hair.

“Do you want to get off this hellhole or not?” Garak demanded.

“You know I do, love.”

“Then let me get back to work.”

“Rest for five minutes,” Bashir said in a tone that made it clear he expected even his most willful patient to listen. “And from here on in you can take a fifteen minute break every hour. Doctor's orders.” Bashir pressed a kiss to Garak's temple. He could still feel the Cardassian's pulse racing as Garak himself let out a resigned sigh.

–

Bashir found himself feeling almost grateful when Martok brought Worf back from fighting the Jem'Hadar. Tending to Worf's wounds gave him something to do other than worry about Garak. Bashir wanted desperately to believe that Garak's poor condition had been a fluke, but he knew Garak too well to truly believe that. If Garak was feeling poorly enough for it to be obvious, he must be in terrible shape.

The two Klingons and Bashir all turned to the wall as a series of thumps banged out.

“What was that?” Martok asked.

“Elim,” Bashir whispered, dread rising in the pit of his stomach as he hurried across the room and opened the panel.

“How long has he been in there?”

“About half an hour,” Bashir answered as he knelt down to peer into the crawlspace. “Elim, the panel's open now. You can come out.” There was no response and the banging continued. “I've got to get him out of there,” Bashir announced before heading into the wall himself.

“Elim,” Bashir called as he shimmied over to his lover's side. “Elim, you have to stop. You're making too much noise.” He steadied Garak as the Cardassian stilled.

“The light. The light went out,” Garak explained desperately.

“I know,” Bashir soothed. “It's alright. Come on, you can take your break a little early.” He guided Garak back into the barracks and helped him lie down on a cot. Bashir ran his fingers through Garak's hair rather than taking the Cardassian's pulse. He already knew what he'd find if he bothered. He murmured soothing nothings as he lay a blanket over his worryingly unresponsive lover. Garak's piercing blue eyes were staring blankly ahead at a wall. Bashir repressed a shiver as he leaned down to press a kiss to the back of Garak's head, then he walked over to where the two Klingons were waiting for an explanation.

“It would appear that he suffers from an acute form of claustrophobia,” Bashir reported clinically, his professional mask hiding his personal concerns.

“You didn't know?” Martok asked softly, even though he clearly already knew the answer.

Bashir shook his head. “No. I didn't.”

“One of us will have to finish reconfiguring the transmitter,” Worf stated, bringing the conversation back to the more pressing matter of escape.

“And who would you suggest could do that?” Bashir asked resignedly. Even if he threw caution to the wind, revealed his enhanced intellect, and learned as quickly as he was capable of, it would still be weeks before he could take over for Garak. The silence of the Klingons was all the answer Bashir needed. “Exactly.”

“If Garak can't contact the runabout, we're not going anywhere,” Martok said, summing up their situation.

Bashir went back to Garak's cot and sat on the floor beside it. He ran his hand down Garak's back and absently hummed as he did so.

“Julian?” Garak's voice was so quiet that Bashir almost thought he'd imagined it.

“Yes, love,” Bashir replied softly, trying to keep this conversation as private as possible..

Garak rolled onto his back. “Could you bring another cot over here? I want to hold you.”

“Of course,” Bashir said with a smile as he got up and slid an empty cot into place. He lay down beside Garak, facing away from the others to maintain the illusion of privacy, and let out a content sigh as his lover's arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. It wasn't terribly pleasant, the cots weren't that comfortable to begin with and they certainly weren't meant to be slept on like this, but with Garak holding him Bashir fell asleep almost instantly.

–

Early the next day, Worf was taken away early for another round of battles and Martok went with him. The two Romulans left a bit later, but the Breen remained. Bashir was loath to leave Garak's side, especially since his lover had once again fallen silent.

Bashir found himself petting Garak's hair and humming for lack of any better ideas. While he desperately wanted to just hold Garak, he didn't want to risk accidentally crowding him and setting off another panic attack, especially since, other than his request for Bashir to sleep beside him, Garak hadn't spoken since being pulled out of the wall.

When Martok and Worf returned, the general quickly noticed Bashir's need for distraction and began vividly recounting the details of the battles Worf had fought that morning while Bashir tended to Worf's wounds.

“When we return to the Klingon Empire, I will seek out Keedera himself and tell him of your glorious tale,” Martok told Worf. “He will write a song worthy of you.” That managed to coax a smile from Bashir. Martok was good at raising spirits.

“Well, be sure to send me a copy,” Bashir chimed in.

“I'll do better than that. I can make sure that he mentions you, the healer who bound the warrior's wounds so he could fight again.”

“Right now, the only part of the song that I wish to hear is the verse that tells of our escape,” Worf stated. “What good is defeating every Jem'Hadar soldier in this compound if it does not bring us closer to our freedom?”

Bashir frowned, biting his lip. “We have to come up with a new escape plan.”

“That won't be necessary,” Garak announced from the other side of the room as he stood. “The original one will work. I just have to finish what I started. After all, a verse about the Cardassian who panicked in the face of danger would ruin General Martok's song.”

“And would be unfortunate,” Martok commented.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” Garak began.

“Elim, wait,” Bashir said, hurrying to Garak. He gave his lover a quick kiss and a wry smile. “For luck.”

“My dear, Cardassians don't believe in luck,” Garak said fondly.

“Humans do,” Bashir replied.

As Bashir and the two Klingons watched Garak climb back into the crawlspace, Martok said to Bashir “Your lover is a true warrior. There is no greater enemy than one's own fears.”

“It takes a brave man to face them,” Worf added.

–

Bashir waited anxiously while Garak worked. Martok and Worf had once again left to fight, and Bashir once again felt useless.

“Jem'Hadar,” the Romulan who had been keeping watch announced.

“Can we get him out?” Bashir asked quickly. He didn't want to leave Garak inside that wall any more than necessary.

“No time.”

No sooner was that said, then three Jem'Hadar entered the barracks.

“The Cardassian,” one barked. “Where is he?”

“Outside, I suppose,” Bashir answered, feigning nonchalance.

The Jem'Hadar hit Bashir, sending him crashing to the ground. “He is not outside.” The Jem'Hadar began to search the barracks.

“What do you want with him?” Bashir asked, dreading the answer.

“He is to be put to death.”

One of the Jem'Hadar handed something to the leader.

“If you wish to live, explain this,” the lead Jem'Hadar demanded, holding the tool that opened the panel to the crawlspace where Garak was hiding. Bashir said nothing. “I'll ask you for the last time. What is this?”

“It's either a self-sealing stem bolt or a reverse ratcheting router, I'm just not sure,” Bashir replied.

The Jem'Hadar turned and vaporized one of the Romulans, then one of the guards pulled Tain's old cot away from the wall and used the tool to remove the panel. Bashir focused on keeping his breathing steady while the guard peered into the crawlspace.

Suddenly, the Breen grabbed a weapon and vaporized two Jem'Hadar before being killed himself. Bashir grabbed the metal tool from where it had fallen and stabbed the third Jem'Hadar who was struggling with the remaining Romulan.

“My people have a saying. Never turn your back on a Breen,” she said.

“Julian, would you keep the noise down? I'm trying to work in here,” Garak called from the crawlspace.

Despite their dire situation, Bashir smiled at the joke. “Elim, how many transtator circuits have you got left?”

“Three.”

“Well, work fast, because pretty soon we're going to be up to our necks in Jem'Hadar,” Bashir said as he and the Romulan prepared for a fight.

–

They didn't have time for a romantic reunion when they beamed aboard the runabout. Garak and the Romulan went to pilot the runabout, while Bashir quickly looked Worf over.

“Take him to one of the cabins in the back. I'll be with you as soon as I can,” Bashir told Martok, who nodded and complied. Bashir walked forward and stood behind Garak. “Let me know the instant we can send a message to the station. We need to make sure they know about the Changeling.”

–

Once they finally arrived at the station, all the escapees went straight to the infirmary. While Bashir handed Worf over to the care of his medical staff, security officers came and escorted Martok and the Romulan to guest quarters. Garak wasn't alone long before Bashir emerged, looking completely exhausted.

“Worf's out of the woods, at least,” he announced as Garak hurried to his side. Bashir gave a weary smile. “He'll be in there for a while longer, but _I_ have been officially kicked out of my own infirmary unless I'm in need of medical attention.”

Garak was about to reply when Sisko walked in.

“Julian!” Sisko called, walking over and embracing his friend. “It's good to have you back.”

“It's good to _be_ back, Ben,” Bashir said with a tired smile.

“Don't you even _think_ about reporting for work tomorrow,” Sisko warned, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You are off-duty for the next two days at least.” Bashir chuckled and nodded his surrender as Sisko turned to Garak. “That goes for you too, Mister Garak. I want that tailor shop of yours to remain closed for fifty-two hours. _Someone_ has to make sure Julian doesn't try to sneak into the infirmary.”

Garak smiled. “I'll do my best.”

Sisko smiled back then returned his attention to Bashir. “I'll take care of informing everyone. You focus on resting.” With that, he left.

“Let's go to bed, Elim,” Bashir said, slipping his arm around Garak's waist. “I feel like I'm about to collapse.”

Garak brought them to his quarters, figuring that was the safer option than forcing Bashir to immediately confront the fact that his life had been taken over by an impostor for a month.

Bashir barely managed to kick off his boots before collapsing into the bed and falling asleep. Normally, Garak would be offended by such a cavalier treatment of clothing and his bedding, but Starfleet uniforms were ridiculously resistant to wrinkling and Garak wasn't going to complain when he finally had his beloved back.

 


	35. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 5x15 - By Inferno's Light

The next morning, Garak awoke to an empty bed and the horrible feeling that the entire rescue had been a dream. But when he emerged from the bedroom, still in his nightclothes, he found Bashir sitting at the table with an empty plate and what smelled like a raktajino.

“Good morning,” Bashir greeted with a bright smile. At some point while Garak had slept, Bashir had taken the time for a sonic shower and to trim his beard back to its normal length and shape. Bashir had also changed from his uniform into a shirt, vest, and trousers combination that Garak had made, rather than a clean uniform.

Garak smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Bashir's lips, noticing that Bashir's eyes briefly revealed a hunger of a different kind as he pulled back.

“Good morning, my dear,” Garak said softly. He ran a hand through Bashir's hair, noting every detail of how it felt against his fingers.

“I have some good news,” Bashir said, turning his head to look at Garak's face.

“Oh?”

“I finally took care of that paperwork this morning. We're approved to start moving to our new quarters tomorrow if you still want. Though after everything that's happened, I would understand if you need some time to readjust to me.” Bashir smiled, but it was the kind of smile he wore when he was trying to hide his own pain or uneasiness.

“Julian, I would love nothing better than to finally move in with you,” Garak replied with a reassuring smile. “And to finally have full control of your wardrobe.”

The teasing remark had the soothing effect he'd known it would, and Bashir let out a soft chuckle.

After the laughter ended, Bashir sighed. “There is something else I need to do today...and I'd like your support when I go.”

“Whatever it is, you have it,” Garak pledged, placing a hand on Bashir's upper back.

Bashir took a deep breath to steady himself, then said quietly “Ben said they captured the Changeling. I need to see it. I need...”

“Then let's go,” Garak replied.

–

“Do you want me to join you?” Garak asked. Bashir shook his head. This was something he would rather do alone. Garak seemed to understand and nodded. “I’ll be right outside. Don’t force yourself to stay longer than you want to.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Bashir said with a smile before heading to the cell.

The Changeling was oozing around the floor. Bashir didn’t know if that was significant or not. “Hello,” he said simply, to announce his presence. The Changeling then morphed into a human form: Bashir.

“Hello again, Doctor Bashir.” It smirked at him with his own face and then sat down on the cell bed. “Come to hear what you missed while you were away?”

“We’ve met before?” Bashir asked, trying to keep his face from revealing his discomfort.

“At the medical conference.” The Changeling nodded. “Of course, you recognized me as Admiral McCoy then.” Bashir shuddered. He didn’t ask what had happened to the real Doctor McCoy. He could only hope that he simply hadn’t attended the conference.

“I’m curious…” Bashir began. “Why me? Was it just because I had left the station at an opportune time to be replaced?” 

“Because no one would notice you were gone.” The Changeling smiled. “Come now, Doctor, you have to admit you’re out of place here.”

“This is my home…” Bashir breathed, as if that discounted what the Changeling was saying.

“ To everyone else, this is a  _ posting _ .” The Changeling shook his head. “Some consider Bajor home, but you have no connection to the planet itself. You’ve latched onto this cold, desolate station because you don’t really fit in anywhere  _ real _ .” 

“What you’re doing isn’t working,” Bashir scoffed. “I’m surrounded by friends and loved ones here.”

“And how many of them realized you’d been replaced?” The Changeling smirked.

“Elim noticed,” Bashir quickly shot back. The Changeling rolled his eyes.

“Are you sure about that?” The Changeling leaned back and sighed. “He’s a known liar. Of course he would tell you what you wanted to hear.” 

“He tipped off Odo,” Bashir countered. “That’s why you’re sitting here now.” 

“ Odo didn’t require the help of a  _ Solid, _ ” he Changeling spat. “Once he’d returned to his Changeling form, I knew it was likely he’d discover me.” 

“Elim knew,” Bashir whispered. He needed that to be true. He needed to know someone noticed he’d been replaced.

“Did he?” The Changeling was so damned smug. “Did he know when he kissed me?” The Changeling licked his lips. “Did he know when he fell asleep in my arms? Vulnerable and trusting?” The Changeling tilted his head with a sinister smile. “If so, he’s not as loyal as you thought. Or…” The Changeling shrugged, “he simply didn’t care.” 

“Elim loves me,” Bashir said more forcefully this time.

“ How do you know that? Because he told you?” The Changeling leaned forward and purred sharply, “He told  _ me  _ that too.” 

“Elim loves me,” Bashir said again, trying to ignore what had been said. “And you’re never going to return to your Great Link.” Bashir felt a cold rage inside of him as he looked at his own face grinning maliciously there. “While I lie with my lover, safe and warm, you’ll be in a cell, cold and alone. I think you’ve already realized that. That’s why you’re desperate to believe Elim gave you even a shadow of affection, because no one will ever love you again.” He essentially spat his last words and then turned to leave. He wasn’t going to stay and listen to this pathetic creature. Unfortunately, right before he left, he heard the Changeling shout one last biting remark.

“ No one has  _ ever  _ loved you!” Bashir felt a chill down his spine and attempted to compose himself before he would face Garak again.

–

“Julian?” Garak said softly, hurrying to his lover's side when the man emerged from the room where the Changeling was being held. The question “are you alright” didn't need to be asked, it was apparent in Garak's tone and the tenderness with which he laid a hand on Bashir's arm.

“I'm fine,” Bashir lied, offering a small false smile. Garak let a slight frown show through, enough so that Bashir would know he hadn't fooled Garak.

“We should leave. You're supposed to be resting,” Garak reminded.

“Let's go to my quarters.”

Garak looked at Bashir, noting the pain and fear he was trying very hard to suppress and hide behind a warm and cheerful demeanor. “Are you sure?” Garak asked, letting Bashir see concern in his eyes.

Bashir nodded. “Let's get it over with,” he muttered so quietly that Garak almost missed it.

They walked side by side to Bashir's quarters in silence. Bashir hesitated at the threshold for a moment before going inside.

The room looked normal enough, the only things obviously out of place were several boxes just off to the side of the door.

“I had some boxes sent over so I could start packing for our move,” Bashir explained. That was a clever idea. It meant that Bashir didn't have to spend more time in this space than was necessary. Garak smiled encouragingly, but Bashir barely seemed to notice as he drifted around the room, looking at his various possessions with what was almost a sense of apprehension. Bashir stopped when he came to the shelf that held Kukalaka. “Hello, my old friend,” he murmured very quietly as he pet the bear's head. Garak walked softly, though he deliberately made some noise, to Bashir's side.

“I don't think the Changeling touched him,” Garak said quietly.

Bashir smiled weakly at him and nodded. “He's precisely where I left him.”

Bashir drifted towards the bedroom, with Garak trailing a bit behind him. Now it was Garak who hesitated in the doorway, while Bashir moved ahead.

There were minor differences in the bedroom, as there had been in the main room. Some things had been moved around, certain things that Bashir had left out of place before he'd departed for the medical conference had vanished, likely either put away or disposed of. Bashir wandered over to the wardrobe and opened it, letting out a soft gasp of surprise when he saw that all of his old uniforms were gone, replaced with a few in the new style.

“I'm surprised that he bothered replicating clothes,” Bashir muttered absently.

“ _I was hoping for your professional opinion on something.”_

Garak repressed a shiver as the memory rose unbidden in his mind, but he couldn't keep his hand from shaking as Bashir pulled out the dress uniform.

“ _Would you like me to tailor your dress uniform?”_

“ _If you wouldn't mind.”_

“ _Not at all. It's a delight to work with a model as lovely as you.”_

_Bashir emerged from the changing room and twirled slightly. “What do you think?”_

“ _You look ravishing, my dear. Now stand here and let me get to work.”_

“Elim!” Bashir's voice combined with his hand on Garak's arm cut through everything else.

Garak recoiled from where Bashir was kneeling in front of him. Somehow he'd wound up sitting on the bed without realizing it.

Bashir's eyes went wide for a moment, but he instantly pulled back. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

“I'll be fine in a moment,” Garak replied with a weak smile, knowing that Bashir was unlikely to be appeased. The frown on Bashir's face told him that his guess was correct. “Just some unnerving memories. It will pass.”

“Do you have a knife?” Bashir asked. Garak blinked, but he slowly nodded. He liked to keep a knife hidden on his person when he felt unsafe, and he'd been feeling very unsafe lately. Bashir held out his hand. “Here. Test me.”

“I can tell the difference between you and the impostor,” Garak protested, but he was already reaching for the hidden weapon.

“I know, my love,” Bashir soothed. “But this isn't about whether or not you can spot the difference, but reassuring your mind that you're safe. It's alright.”

Hesitantly and with an unsteady hand, Garak sliced Bashir's fingertip. He'd never injured Bashir like this. Bruises and bite marks left in the middle of lovemaking were one thing, but this clinical kind of injury was too close to things Garak had done in his previous line of work for his comfort. Garak felt a shiver run through him as he watched Bashir's blood gather at the incision. He forced himself to look away, to focus on the blood staining the knife instead. He hadn't felt like this when he'd sliced the Changeling, but even then he'd suspected that the person he was injuring wasn't his lover.

“Well?” Bashir asked lightly, as if he didn't know what the results of the test would be already and was curious about them.

“B negative,” Garak answered quietly, repeating Bashir's joke from the camp.

He was rewarded with a fond smile. “You're safe, Elim. I promise.” Bashir got up and pulled the dermal regenerator from the nightstand, quickly closing up the wound before approaching Garak again. “It's alright.” He waited until Garak put away the knife before slowly reaching out and touching Garak's hand. “I'm really here. It's really me.”

Garak sighed even as he turned his hand around to properly clasp Bashir's. “I'm sorry for making you deal with me when you've had it far worse.”

“Elim. No. Struggles are not comparable,” Bashir said in a firm tone. He sat beside Garak on the bed. “Just because I was kidnapped and imprisoned that doesn't mean that you didn't suffer as much in a different way.”

“But you-” Garak started.

“Hush,” Bashir cut him off, sliding his arm around Garak's waist. “We're focusing on you right now. Elim, you've just spent the last month dealing with your correct suspicion that your lover had been replaced, with the added complication of not really having anyone to discuss your suspicions with. Not to mention dealing with Tain and your claustrophobia.” Bashir pressed a kiss to Garak's cheek. “Plus you've been supporting me. It's hasn't even been a day since we got back. You're going to need time to recover too.”

“I shouldn't need time,” Garak grumbled. “I should be able to compartmentalize it and move on.” He let out a huff. “I should be supporting you, not needing your help.”

“Why?” Bashir asked, leaning his head on Garak's shoulder. “So you can be more aloof and less vulnerable?”

“Frankly, yes,” Garak replied a bit sharper than he intended.

Bashir let out a sigh. “That might be easier,” he conceded, “but you were already like that once.” He paused, clearly hesitant. “Do you really want to go back to that?”

“If it meant that I could better help you...” Garak let himself trail off. This conversation had somehow veered incredibly close to the contradiction that had plagued him while dealing with the Changeling. His love for Bashir was the very thing making it harder for him to help Bashir.

“Oh, my love,” Bashir said softly. He sat up, then pulled Garak into a tender embrace. “I don't know if this is a Cardassian cultural issue or if this is just your own insecurities, but you don't have to sacrifice yourself or your well-being to help me. I would never ask that of you.”

Garak let Bashir's words and warmth soothe him. “But you need me,” he protested weakly.

Bashir reached up and ran his hand through Garak's hair. “I need you alive and well,” Bashir countered. “Elim, your health is important too.” He fell silent for a moment, simply running his hand soothingly down Garak's back. “...is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Like what?” Garak pulled back a bit, though Bashir maintained a loose hold around him.

“Anything,” Bashir repeated. “Tain, the Changeling, me. Anything at all that's making you upset.”

Garak fell silent as he considered Bashir's offer. It might be nice to tell Bashir about the concerns floating through his mind, but at the same time Garak had no idea how Bashir would react and he didn't want to add to his lover's burdens so soon after rescuing him.

As if he could sense Garak's thoughts, Bashir chuckled and said “Elim, don't worry about me for a moment. Focus on yourself, on your needs.”

Garak frowned, but slowly, hesitantly, he spoke. “When you were replaced...I didn't want the Changeling to know that I suspected him.” Bashir didn't speak, but he nodded for Garak to continue, even though Garak could see the unease in his eyes. “It's not what you think,” Garak said quickly. “I...kept him at a distance as best I could, but...” Garak shrugged. “You'd been gone for a month, and I needed information.” Garak paused when he heard Bashir's breath hitch.

“Oh, Elim, I understand,” Bashir was quick to reassure, carefully keeping his voice steady and clear of judgment or pity.

“No, you don't.” Garak shook his head. “Julian, I didn't have sex with him.”

“Oh?” Bashir raised an eyebrow, clearly struggling to keep his expression neutral, though Garak could see the clear joy and relief in his eyes.

“No.” Garak hesitated. He doubted Bashir would understand the significance of what he was admitting to, exactly how deeply he'd been compromised by his love, and he couldn't shake the unease at admitting this, drilled into him by years under Tain's command. “I _couldn't_.” He took a breath and slowly let it out, forcing himself to look into Bashir's eyes. “Even though I knew you would understand... my love for you was stopping me.”

Bashir blinked as confusion spread across his face. “What exactly is the problem?” Garak didn't reply. Bashir paused before continuing, carefully choosing his words. “Elim, if you're upset that you... care... that you're not able to be a dispassionate spy anymore, it really is alright...”

Garak sighed and looked away guiltily. “It's not that. But if I  _were_ able to be dispassionate, if I had been able to go through with it, I might have been able to get more information. I could have gotten to you sooner. I let my discomfort be prioritized over finding you.”

“And I could rip out my heart and use it as a viable transplant for one of my patients in need.” Bashir shook his head. “Destroying yourself would not have been the same as saving me, it'd be an exchange.”

“I'm not sure...” Garak let the sentence trail off.

Bashir smiled at him. “Elim, your well-being is as important to me as my own.” He hesitated, clearly weighing whether or not what he was about to say would help. “When I was imprisoned... Tain would say things that were clearly meant to bother me. One of his favorite targets was to attack our relationship, claiming that you couldn't love me.”

Garak looked at Bashir with slightly panicked eyes. He knew that he loved Bashir with all of his very being, but could Bashir still believe that after spending over a month Tain?

Sensing Garak's discomfort, Bashir pulled him back into a firm embrace. “Don't worry. I didn't believe a word he said. I know you, and I know you love me.” Garak embraced Bashir back as Bashir continued to speak. “What hurt me more than any attacks on me or our relationship, was when he would be dismissive of you, like you were a tool that could be replaced.” Bashir's grip on Garak tightened. “He was wrong. You're irreplaceable. So don't you  _dare_ neglect yourself thinking it won't hurt me. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Alright.” The whispered word barely escaped Garak's lips, but it was enough, Bashir knew that his point had gotten through.

They remained in their silent embrace for a bit before eventually drawing apart. They stood, and between the two of them they managed to quickly pack up or dispose of Bashir's belongings.

–

Bashir awoke to find Garak holding him in place, and yet it still took him a moment to recognize that he was safe in Garak's quarters and not back on Adigeon Prime.

“Julian, you're alright,” Garak murmured soothingly, clearly mimicking tactics Bashir had used to calm him. “You're safe and with me.”

Bashir was surprised to find that his pulse was racing, and he could feel his body shaking with terror left over from the dream. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths as Garak kept up his calming whispers. As Bashir's breathing returned to normal and his body began to steady, Garak's grip loosened and he pulled back to run a hand lightly down Bashir's arm.

“I won't let anyone hurt you,” Garak promised softly. “You're here with me, my love.”

Bashir nodded. “I know.”

Garak's lips twitched into a smile. “Do you want to talk about it?” he offered. “A very smart man keeps telling me that it can be helpful.”

Normally Bashir would have been pleased to be called smart, but in this moment the reference to his intelligence sent a shiver down his spine instead. “It was a bad dream,” Bashir replied. He very slowly shifted himself. He was fine. The room wasn't spinning. His head wasn't pounding. He wasn't nauseous. He wasn't on Adigeon Prime. “A bad memory.”

Garak said nothing, but slid closer, wrapping his arms around Bashir as best he could.

Bashir sighed. It seemed like Garak wouldn't push him to explain exactly what he'd been dreaming about that had caused such a strongly negative memory, and yet, as Bashir gazed into Garak's concerned eyes he wanted nothing more than to tell his lover everything. He ached to tell Garak the secret that he'd kept hidden for decades, the secret he'd only revealed once before, to Palis after they'd already been married for a while.

But he pushed that urge aside for the moment. Telling someone this secret, even telling Garak, was not something to be done without much consideration, and he was in no fit state for that right now.

“It was something that happened to me when I was a young child,” Bashir settled for saying. It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was at least something. He couldn't even really remember Adigeon Prime clearly, the details were muddled no matter how hard he tried to recall them, but the physical sensations and the sickness he'd experienced because of the treatment were crystal clear in his mind.

Garak smiled, caressing Bashir's cheek with his hand. “I'm no stranger to traumatizing childhood memories,” he said. Though there was no spoken invitation for Bashir to share more, it was clear that Garak would listen if Bashir spoke.

Instead, Bashir slid closer to Garak, relishing the feeling of being held. “I love you so much,” Bashir whispered.

Garak's arms tightened around Bashir. “I love you too,” he replied. Bashir could almost hear the effort in Garak's voice as he restrained himself from asking questions.

Bashir leaned in, pressing their foreheads together and murmured “I'm sorry, I can't talk about it right now.”

Garak let out a breath that was almost a huff, but he let the matter rest as they eased back into sleep.

 


	36. Doctor Bashir, I Presume? - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x16 - Doctor Bashir, I Presume?

Bashir and Garak did their best to speed life's return to normal. They quickly packed their belongings and moved to their new, shared quarters. They both ignored the captured Changeling as best they could until the Founder was removed from the station to be sent to an isolated high security prison. And they eagerly accepted a dinner invitation from Sisko. While there were times that Bashir caught Garak watching him very closely or times where Bashir just silently clung to Garak, their lives had finally begun to return to the way they'd been heading before Bashir was abducted.

Bashir mused on this as he left the infirmary to meet O'Brien for a game of darts. Things were calming down, and his relationship with Garak was stronger than ever. Furthermore, he'd been thinking about whether or not to tell Garak his deepest secret and the more he thought about it the more it seemed not only safe, but necessary. Bashir loved Garak with all his heart, and this was the longest and most meaningful relationship he'd been in since his divorce. Keeping this secret from Garak was starting to feel more and more unfair, to both of them.

He smiled and waved at Leeta, who was sitting with Rom. She grinned back.

_I'll tell him tonight,_ Bashir decided. _I'll check in right before he closes to make sure he's not swamped with work, walk him home, and tell him before dinner. In all likelihood he'll take it well. I'd say a 63% chance he compliments me on carrying out a long-term deception, with an 87.9% chance he makes a comment about the foolishness of the Federation and the superiority of the Cardassian opinion. It will be fine...and it opens the door for me to tell him about my parents..._

Bashir forced himself to focus on the darts game. O'Brien had managed to score a triple twenty. “Back in the zone today, I see,” Bashir commented with a smile.

“I never really left it. Just been giving you a chance to get even,” O'Brien teased back.

“Thank you, but I don't need your charity. Another game?” Bashir invited. He needed to keep himself occupied until he could see Garak in order to prevent himself from overthinking everything.

“Maybe one. I promised Molly I'd do some coloring with her this afternoon. I don't want to feel like we've forgotten about her, with all the attention on the baby.”

“Fair enough. I won't keep you from your daughter.”

“Speaking of new additions, how's it going with Garak now that you're finally settled in?” O'Brien asked.

Bashir chuckled. “I'm living with a fashion tyrant. I thought he was fussy about my clothes before... I think he might redo my entire wardrobe.” Bashir shrugged, grinning. “But aside from that it's wonderful.”

O'Brien laughed and was about to reply when another voice cut him off.

“Doctor Bashir, I presume?”

“That's me,” Bashir confirmed.

“I'm Louis Zimmerman, Director of Holographic Imaging and Programming at the Jupiter Research Station. And I'm here to make you immortal.”

–

Bashir felt strangely uneasy about serving as the template for the Long-term Medical Hologram. His selection did make sense on paper: he'd had a successful career, even being nominated for the Carrington Award fairly young, but he wasn't so famous or publicly known that his being used as the template would be distracting. And yet, Bashir couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't really deserve the honor, that it should go to someone else, someone whose medical skills weren't due to an artificially enhanced intelligence.

But it wasn't as if he could refuse. It was quite an honor, as Sisko had pointed out, and it wasn't like he was too busy to participate.

The rest of Bashir's afternoon was taken over by preparing the infirmary for the LMH project, and when Bashir finally checked the time, it was long after when Garak would have closed up his shop. Bashir groaned. This project was already looking like it was going to take over his life.

He wrapped up everything for the night as best he could and walked out onto the promenade. A small pang of guilt hit him as he passed Garak's shop, closed and dark for the night. He was too tired to deal with telling Garak tonight, he'd have to put it off.

When he made it to his quarters, Garak was in the process of laying out dinner for the both of them. Bashir smiled, walked over to Garak, and slipped his arms around his lover's waist.

“Hello, Julian,” Garak greeted with a chuckle.

“Mm. I love you,” Bashir sighed, pressing a quick kiss to Garak's cheek.

“You must be exhausted if you're this affectionate before dinner.” Garak placed the plate he was holding on the table and turned around in Bashir's arms. He smiled fondly and pulled Bashir in for a proper kiss.

They broke apart with a sigh and sat down to eat.

Over dinner, Bashir explained what the LMH project was and that he'd been selected to serve as the template.

“That sounds like quite an honor,” Garak noted, though he was fixing Bashir with a thoughtful look.

“It is,” Bashir said, forcing a smile.

Garak narrowed his eyes. “One you don't think you deserve.”

Bashir hesitated, on the verge of spilling everything, but instead he settled for biting his lip and shrugging.

Garak gave him a long look, but finally let out a sigh and said, “Well, in my _completely_ unbiased opinion, you deserve every honor that can be bestowed upon you.”

That was the last that was said of the project for the night, and by the time Bashir fell asleep in Garak's arms he'd almost forgotten about it.

–

Bashir was swiftly reminded of the LMH project the next day when he entered the infirmary and was immediately handed a PADD with an in-depth questionnaire about himself, his experiences, and his opinions. He settled into a chair as O'Brien came in and began setting up the holo-projectors in the ceiling.

Bashir scrolled through the first set of questions, which were all about food preferences and eating habits at various stages of his life. A quick check of the index showed him that there were sections on music, sports, literature, entertainment, travel, friends, family, romantic and sexual relationships and even more topics besides. He sighed as he scrolled back to the beginning of the first section and began to formulate his answers while absently talking to O'Brien.

Lunch didn't last nearly long enough. Listening to Garak complain about a delayed shipment of thread proved a delightful change from trying to determine the appropriate level of detail for his childhood reading preferences while Zimmerman fussed around him. Garak seemed to pick up on Bashir's need for distraction rather than debate and took to telling stories with his usual aplomb, while Bashir simply listened, not caring if the tales were true.

When he returned to work, it was to discover that O'Brien had wrapped up installing the holo-projectors and Bashir was left with only Zimmerman for company.

“I hadn't been aware that there were any Cardassians left on this station,” Zimmerman commented.

Bashir raised an eyebrow at the topic. “There's just the one. Elim Garak.”

“Hmm,” Zimmerman replied in an unconvinced tone.

“Elim is my partner,” Bashir continued. “It's common knowledge since he and I share quarters, and he's my beneficiary in case anything were to happen to me. That, at least, should be mentioned on my file.” He paused deliberately, letting Zimmerman chew that over for a bit. “That's not a problem, right?” Bashir honestly didn't care whether or not he served as the LMH template, but any insults about Garak were a different story.

Zimmerman frowned then shook his head. “No, no. If it's on your file I'm sure it was considered before you were selected.” He sounded almost disappointed.

“You weren't a part of the decision making process?” Bashir asked. It wasn't surprising considering how much Zimmerman seemed to resent Bashir being the template.

“No,” Zimmerman said crossly. He turned his attention back to his PADD with a huff. “I suppose I'll have to add him to my list of interviews.”

“Interviews?”

“I'll be conducting in-depth interviews with your friends, colleagues, and family members, in order to build a more rounded psychological profile for the LMH.”

“When you say colleagues, you mean on the station?”

Zimmerman looked at Bashir carefully. “Mostly. Though I've already interviewed a few of your colleagues from the Enterprise.”

“O-oh?” Bashir stammered. “Could I see those interviews?” Mainly he wanted to see if Riker had been more discreet about their discussions in the interview than he had been while playing tongo.

“I’m afraid I can't share them. These interviews were conducted with the promise of anonymity, after all.” Zimmerman smirked.

“I understand,” Bashir replied with a nod as he settled back into a chair and returned his attention to the questionnaire.

–

“So you've known Doctor Bashir for how long?” Zimmerman began.

“I've known Julian almost from the instant he set foot on this station,” Garak replied.

Zimmerman nodded. “And how exactly did the two of you meet?”

Garak tilted his head and looked up, as if he was reminiscing rather than concocting a new story. “When I first saw him walking down the promenade I thought he was the most attractive creature I'd ever seen, but I didn't approach him right away. No, he'd been on the station for over a week before we actually met.” A warm smile spread across Garak's face at the false memory. “He was sitting alone in the Replimat and I joined him. There were all sorts of unpleasant rumors swirling around me in those days, as I was the only Cardassian on the station and the Bajorans did not trust me. One of the more popular ones was that I was a spy.” Garak paused and let his smile turn slightly sharp. “Julian had bought into that one, he has a weakness for spy fiction after all, so he was rather taken off-guard when I approached him.”

Zimmerman frantically jotted down something in his notes. “And then?”

“We talked. He valiantly tried to hold his own, despite his nerves. There was a vase with a flower in it on the table. He wound up batting it away from his face.” Garak chuckled. “I invited him to seek me out if he was ever in the mood for some _enjoyable conversation_.” His tone dripped with innuendo.

“What did he do?” Zimmerman asked.

Garak was pleased that he hadn't lost his talent for spinning an entrancing tale. “Julian approached me that very night. We've been together ever since.”

“When you say he approached you that night,” Zimmerman said, “you mean...?”

“We had sex in a changing stall in my shop. Don't worry, I cleaned it thoroughly afterwards.” Garak smirked. “I can go into more detail if you'd like.”

“That won't be necessary,” Zimmerman answered quickly.

–

“Your _partner_ is the most infuriating person I've ever dealt with,” Zimmerman exclaimed as he stormed back into the infirmary. “He spent the whole interview telling lies and blatantly wasted my time.”

Bashir sighed. “I'll talk to him.” He suppressed a flare of annoyance with Garak. It wasn't fair to blame Garak when Bashir should have suspected that this would happen. Bashir just needed one day to go smoothly, one day without any terrible surprises. “Elim will probably behave if I explain to him how important this is.”

“The man's a _menace_ ,” Zimmerman grumbled.

“Well, he happens to be my partner and knows me better than anyone else,” Bashir declared sharply as he got to his feet. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with Captain Sisko in Ops.” Bashir didn't wait for a response before he left.

–

Garak had closed up his shop for lunch and been walking towards the Replimat when he spotted her. Standing off to one side of the Promenade, a small bag slung over her shoulder, was Bashir’s ex-wife, Palis. She no longer looked as young as in her wedding photo, but it was unmistakably her. Her hair was lightly sprinkled with gray and pulled back in a tight bun. By her expression Garak guessed that she was lost and feeling slightly overwhelmed by the bustle of the lunch rush.

“Excuse me,” Garak said, gliding up to her. “Do you need help finding your way?”

“Yes,” she replied, flashing him a grateful smile. “I'm looking for the infirmary.”

“The infirmary or Doctor Bashir?” Garak asked lightly.

“Is it that obvious?” She looked a bit taken aback.

Garak smiled soothingly. “Only to someone who has seen his wedding photo,” he said reassuringly.

“I didn't realize he’d still kept that,” Palis murmured sheepishly, her eyes glancing awkwardly away.

“I was actually on my way to meet Julian for lunch. Perhaps you'd like to join us?” Garak offered. He had to admit, he was curious about her.

Palis gave him a long look, as if she was piecing some things together. “Well, I wouldn't want to intrude…” she said hesitantly.

“It would be no intrusion at all.”

Palis’s smile was dazzling. “Then I'd be delighted to accept.” She held out her hand. “Palis Delon, though I'm sure you already know that.”

“Elim Garak,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. There was a look of recognition and confirmation in Palis’s eyes at his name.

“Julian mentioned you in his last letter,” she explained as she dropped Garak's hand and let him lead her toward the Replimat. They got their meals and made their way to an empty table.

“He should be here shortly,” Garak said, “unless he got wrapped up in his work and lost track of the time again.”

Palis laughed. “The perils of dating a doctor, they tend to get wrapped up in their work frequently. Julian was always particularly bad at that…”

Garak took a sip of his tea as he considered his response. He hadn't been aware that Bashir had told Palis about their relationship, but he didn't find it that surprising that Bashir would mention it.

“He's gotten better about it. He's started setting an alarm.” Garak said as he smiled at her. Palis smiled back, but there was something off about it. Garak was reminded of that very first time he'd had dinner with the Siskos he got the same sense that he was being sized up and his appropriateness for Bashir was being judged.

It was at that moment that Bashir himself appeared looking worryingly run down as he placed his meal on the table.

“Elim, I'm sorry I'm late-” Bashir stopped speaking as he registered who else was sitting at the table. “Palis!” he exclaimed. Some of his weariness gave way to a smile.

“Hello, Julian,” Palis greeted as she stood. She walked over to Bashir and embraced him. Julian sighed and hugged her back.

Garak watched curiously as they kissed each other's cheeks. Then Palis drew back and smoothly guided Bashir to his chair before returning to her own seat.

“You look as lovely as ever,” Bashir complimented, drawing a soft laugh from Palis.

“Flatterer,” she accused lightly. “And before you ask, my feet are fine. You may no longer be around to fuss over me, but I _do_ take care of myself.”

“That, at least, is good to hear,” Bashir replied with a smile. “You didn't bring Frederick or the children?”

Palis shook her head. “No, Freddie's busy with work and we both felt it would be safer for the children to stay on Earth, considering the way things are going with the Dominion. Besides, I should only be here for a few days if Doctor Zimmerman is to be believed.”

Bashir's expression darkened slightly at the mention of Zimmerman.

“Julian?” Garak said gently, placing a hand on Bashir's arm. “Is something wrong?”

Bashir let out a bitter sigh. “My parents are here. Zimmerman invited them for the LMH project.” Palis let out a horrified gasp.

Garak glanced between the two, frowning in sympathy with Bashir rather than because he felt left out of the conversation. The context was easy enough to guess. Bashir didn't like his parents, Garak had deduced that ages ago by how much the man avoided talking about them, always shifting any queries about his family to instead focus on his previous relationship with Palis.

“They want to have dinner.” Bashir looked resignedly at Garak then at Palis. “We were in Ops. I agreed. I didn't know what else to do.”

Garak opened his mouth to ask for more information, but was cut off by Palis.

“I'll talk to them, arrange everything,” she said quickly, placing a reassuring hand on top of Bashir's. “You don't have to face them alone, Julian.”

The overwhelming gratitude of Bashir's smile made Garak's chest ache with empathy for his lover's pain and slight jealousy that he wasn't the one relieving it. He tightened his grip on Bashir's arm and forced himself to focus on what really mattered: making his beloved feel better. “I'll be with you the whole time,” Garak pledged.

“Thank you,” Bashir replied, looking only slightly better than before. “Both of you.” He sighed. “I don't know how I'd handle this without your support. Between Zimmerman and my parents and still adjusting back to the station, I'm completely worn out.” He closed his eyes and let out another sigh. “And my lunch break is almost over,” he groaned.  
Palis and Garak exchanged a look. Garak marveled at the speed with which her attitude towards him had warmed. He hadn't even known Palis for an hour and yet there was already an understanding between them that they would work together for Bashir's sake.

“I've got to go back to work,” Bashir announced as he stood, oblivious to the alliance that had formed around him. “I'll see you both later.” Then he left, with Palis and Garak departing shortly after.

–

Garak wasn't at all surprised when Palis walked into his shop later that day. She didn't bother pretending to be shopping for clothes, instead heading straight to where Garak stood at his work table.

“How much has Julian told you about his parents?” she asked, cutting directly to the chase.

“Next to nothing,” Garak replied, pausing in his work. “But that and his reaction earlier is enough to tell me that he doesn't care for them.”

Palis considered Garak, then said, “He despises them. I don't think he's talked to them in decades.” She sighed. “He didn't even want to invite them to our wedding. I didn't realize how bad it was, so I insisted.” She looked away and shook her head, clearly upset with how she'd handled this in the past. “Luckily they couldn't make it.” She hesitated long enough that Garak began to wonder if he was going to have to prompt her to continue, but eventually she brought her focus back to the present and resumed her explanation. “They did manage to visit us eventually. We'd been married for almost a year at the time. ...It was miserable. Julian...” She paused, then her eyes, blazing with determination, met Garak's. “We have to do whatever we can to protect him from them.”

Garak nodded in agreement. “What do you want me to do?”

“His parents are usually subtle in public. They make comments that put Julian down, but could be dismissed as standard family things if you don't know to look for it. In private...well, it took a while for things to escalate with me there, but...” Palis considered how to phrase things. “A lot of their attacks focus on the idea that Julian is ungrateful, as if he should be thankful for how they treated him,” she scoffed. “They also accuse Julian of being arrogant, of viewing himself as too good for them. He absolutely is too good for them, and it wouldn't be arrogant of him to think so.” She shook her head, pushing her thoughts away from that anger. “As for what you can do, make sure he knows that you love him and believe him before the dinner. During the dinner try to keep him calm, if he boils over everything will escalate very quickly and it will just make him more miserable. Mainly, any time his parents start saying anything negative about Julian or his life we need to deflect and distract. Can you handle that?”

Garak smiled, wondering exactly how much Bashir had told Palis about Garak's previous occupation. “I'll do my best,” he answered.

“Good,” Palis said with a nod. “Dinner will be in his parents' quarters at 1900. Take care of Julian until then.” Satisfied that the plan was in place, Palis turned around and left Garak's shop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bashir Suffering Trilogy continues! And Julian's ex-wife Palis arrives. She was really interesting to write.


	37. Doctor Bashir, I Presume? - Part 2

Bashir was miserable all day. He had little to do during his shift other than wrap up a few minor things and finishing that damned questionnaire from Zimmerman. Despite his best efforts he found himself driven out of his own infirmary by his nurses after handing in the completed questionnaire. Feeling lost, Bashir made his way to Garak's shop.

Garak looked up as soon as Bashir entered. He observed Bashir for a moment, trying to determine the right move, before walking over to Bashir and taking his hand in his own.

“How are you, my love?” Garak asked quietly, cupping Bashir's jaw with his other hand.

Bashir forced a smile, despite knowing Garak would see through it. “I've been better.” He sighed. “My staff conspired together to force me out of the infirmary. I'm afraid I don't know what to do with myself.”

Garak didn't answer right away, though he began to lightly stroke his thumb against Bashir's cheek, just above his beard.

“You're busy,” Bashir murmured, looking at the pile of projects on Garak's work table. “I should go.” He began to pull away, but Garak squeezed his hand insistently.

“No, no, no,” Garak protested quickly. “You should stay. I could use the company.”

Bashir chuckled ruefully. “I'm afraid I'm probably terrible company right now.”

Garak turned away from Bashir and led him by the hand back to the work table. “You're always excellent company in my opinion.”

“Now that's a lie,” Bashir replied, but his tone was teasing. Already Garak was making him feel better.

“Only the very best for you, my dear,” Garak returned, pressing a quick kiss to Bashir's cheek. He dropped Bashir's hand and went back to his work.

Bashir watched him awkwardly for a moment then asked “Can I help?”

Garak looked up, startled. He blinked slowly as he considered Bashir's request.

“It's just,” Bashir started, nervously filling the silence, “I feel so useless. It would help if I had something to do. Anything at all.” He bit his lip to pause his rambling, but when Garak didn't immediately speak, Bashir continued. “I shouldn't have come.”

“Julian,” Garak said firmly, crossing over to Bashir and taking both of the Human's hands in his own. “It's alright to be anxious.” He paused, thinking of all the things Bashir had said to him in similar situations. “I love you, and I'll support you through this. You're not alone. You know I'll do whatever I can to help you.”

Bashir kissed Garak. It was desperate, but it wasn't lustful. Garak let Bashir take what he needed.

“Thank you,” Bashir murmured when he pulled back.

Garak smiled tenderly. “Now, let's see how I can put you to work.”

Bashir didn't wind up doing anything complicated. Mostly he just laid out the next piece for Garak to work on and hung up the completed ones with the other finished commissions. But it kept him busy enough that he wasn't constantly dreading the dinner with his parents.

–

Garak had done everything in his power to put Bashir at ease in advance of the dinner, but he could still sense the tension and nerves rolling through his lover as they followed Palis to Bashir's parents' quarters. When they finally arrived the greetings were stiff and uncomfortable and everyone quickly settled into their seats at the table with Bashir sat between Palis and Garak.

There was an awkward silence that no one was quite willing to break, until Amsha Bashir spoke.

“So, Mr. Garak,” she began.

Garak used a warmer variation of the smile he used on his customers. “Please, Madame, call me, Elim.”

Any hope of the conversation remaining on light pleasantries related to Garak's life and work were dashed by Richard Bashir deciding to chime in.

“That's an interesting name. Is that peculiar for a Cardassian? The only ones we hear about are the war mongers and tyrants.”

“Dad,” Bashir said in a warning tone. Under the table Garak placed his hand on Bashir's knee and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“I think your name suits you,” Palis cut in with a too-bright smile.

“Thank you,” Garak said with a nod.

“How long have you and Jules been together?” Amsha asked.

“Yes, must say, we were surprised he didn't mention you to us. He's been keeping most of his life a secret from us.” Richard shot an accusatory glare at his son.

Bashir rolled his eyes and muttered “I wonder where I picked up _that_ habit.”

Garak smiled slyly at his lover and leaned slightly against his side. “Well, it evens out since I keep my life an open book."

Bashir met Garak's gaze and smiled for the first time since they'd walked through the door. “Elim and I have been in a relationship of sorts since I was first on the station.” He turned his head and glanced over at Palis. “So, I guess that's five years then.”

“So is he the reason you've stayed on at this post?” Richard asked, glancing around to indicate how little he thought of DS9.

“What?” Bashir asked, clearly blindsided. He loved his posting and hadn't once thought about looking for a reassignment.

“Well, let's face it, you're not exactly realizing your full potential here,” Richard said with a shrug as if he was stating the obvious.

As Bashir's expression turned indignant, Amsha stepped in.

“What Richard means, Jules, is that it seems a bit of an odd change from the Enterprise.”

Bashir prepared to answer, but Palis jumped in before he got the chance.

“What's 'odd' about him taking the position of Chief Medical Officer?”

“Deep Space 9 has easily become one of the most important Federation postings due to the war,” Garak chimed in.

With Garak at least, Bashir had always been open about his reasons for taking this posting. Bashir liked to take posts that offered unique challenges and where he could see his knowledge and skills making a direct impact. He tended to favor postings on the edge of Federation space, often where there was a desperate medical need, which meant that most of his career was made up of short stints and temporary assignments. His longer tenure on the Enterprise was the exception rather than the rule, and that he hadn't even looked at new assignments since arriving at DS9 showed how happy he was on the station

“It's just not like you to be frightened away by a few Borg,” Richard said, not quite mocking.

“There weren't just a 'few' Borg at Wolf 359,” Palis countered, springing to Bashir's defense.

“That's not why I took this post,” Bashir protested. “I took it because I wanted to.”

Garak placed his hand over Bashir's and tried to look every part the proud partner, resisting the urge to slip a little venom into his voice. “Obviously Starfleet is impressed with his work here as well, or else none of you would have been brought here by Dr. Zimmerman, would you?”

“Yes, let's talk about Dr. Zimmerman,” Palis chimed in, somewhat obviously trying to change the subject. “He seems like an...interesting man.”

Garak smiled. There was no better way to avoid a fight than to unite everyone against someone who was not present to mount a defense. “I take it that's your polite way of saying 'arrogant, vain, and all around distasteful'?”

Palis seemed a bit embarrassed to have it put so bluntly. “Well, truthfully, yes. He seemed rather sexist to me.”

“Really?” Bashir's expression quickly became concerned.

“I think he may do that to everyone. Or, at least, I also received the same treatment.” Garak let his distaste for Zimmerman color his tone.

“He was also ogling me a bit,” Palis added with an annoyed roll of her eyes.

“He probably didn't know you were married,” Richard suggested.  
“Oh, no, I don't think he did at first, which is why I mentioned it as quickly as I could,” Palis stated with clear distaste. “Then he was downright cold to me.”

“Yes, is it any wonder Starfleet wanted to find someone else to model the LMH off of?” Garak asked with a quick smile directed at Bashir. His beloved was practically the opposite of Zimmerman in personality: charming where Zimmerman was abrasive, modest where Zimmerman was arrogant, considerate where Zimmerman was not. Personality-wise, Bashir was an ideal choice to serve as the model for the LMH.

“Is he really that bad?” Amsha asked anxiously.

Garak turned back to her. “You haven't met him yet?”

“Our interviews are set for tomorrow,” Richard explained.

“Try not to make them last all week...” Bashir muttered under his breath.

“Can I help it if I'm proud of my son?” Richard challenged.

Bashir rolled his eyes. “You could certainly try.”

“I'm excited to talk about you, Jules,” Amsha cut in, trying to diffuse the tension between her husband and her son. “Sharing stories about when you were little and you kept Kukalaka with you everywhere.”

A small, sad smile appeared on Bashir's lips. “That was a very long time ago.”

The moment was interrupted by Richard. “My memory's as good as ever. I could probably give Dr. Zimmerman a detailed report on anything he wants to know.”

Instantly, Bashir's walls were back up and the tension returned.

“Just because you could, doesn't mean that you should.”  
“Keep it short and sweet. No need to reveal anything too personal,” Palis chimed in with a knowing look at Bashir and his parents.

Garak could tell that there was more going on than was being directly said. Both Bashir and Palis were clearly concerned that Bashir's parents would reveal something to Zimmerman. This went beyond simple estrangement or abuse. There was some dark family secret here, something that worried Bashir greatly, something everyone in the room was aware of except for Garak.

Garak forced himself to leave that puzzle for the moment and instead focus on the task at hand: diffusing the tension in the room that was once again growing, this time because Richard seemed to resent Bashir and Palis instructing him.

Garak put on a sweet smile and offered how he'd dealt with Zimmerman. “I, personally, lied through my teeth.”

–

Bashir looked like he was on the edge of collapsing as Palis led them away from his parents' temporary quarters. Garak could see the faint tremors running through his lover's body as Palis murmured reassurances.

“It's alright, Julian. It's only going to be a few days. They'll be gone soon enough.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered as they reached the door to Bashir and Garak's shared quarters.

Palis quickly glanced back at Garak before speaking again. “And I doubt they'll say anything too damaging, even if it's out of self-preservation rather than for your sake.”

Bashir pursed his lips, then let out a puff of air. “I'm going to tell Elim.” Garak's natural interest in the conversation sharpened, but he remained silent.

Palis's eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before her expression settled into concern. “Julian, can we talk privately?” she asked quietly.

Bashir blinked. “Um, yes, of course.” He keyed in the code for the door and gestured for her to enter. Garak, naturally, followed the two of them.

Palis looked pointedly at Garak, then looked back at Bashir and raised her eyebrows.

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Elim,” Bashir stated firmly. Palis let out a frustrated sigh and was clearly about to argue that point when Garak lightly placed a hand on Bashir's arm.

“I'll go wait in the other room,” Garak said softly before glancing curiously at Palis. It was strange. She'd been so eager for his help with Bashir's parents that she'd enlisted him against them, but now her desire to protect Bashir was driving her to shut Garak out.

Garak went to the bedroom and let the door slide closed, then he immediately pressed his ear against it. His Cardassian hearing might not be as good as a Human's, but he was incredibly curious for any information he could get about this situation. Fortunately for him, the two were speaking rather loudly.

“Julian, just what are you thinking?!” Palis demanded. “I know you're feeling overwhelmed right now, but there's no need to take that kind of a risk.”

“It's not a risk, Palis. I trust him,” Bashir replied tenderly. Garak could almost see the smile that was likely on his beloved's face.

“He's already broken your heart once before. _I_ remember you telling me about that, even if _you're_ choosing to ignore it. And this is your career, your _whole life!_ Do you really think you can trust him with this?”

“I know it might seem hard to understand-”

Palis let out a frustrated huff.

“Listen,” Bashir said, continuing. “I've calculated the odds-”

“I know you're brilliant, Julian, but this isn't the sort of thing you can easily calculate. This sort of thing is going to be messy and emotional and irrational. Even _you_ can't know for sure what people are going to do.”

“I love him and he loves me. We'll get through this. I _know_ him.”

“How can you be so certain?” Palis asked. “He was a spy, he could be lying-”

“Elim isn't like that!” Bashir protested. “Not anymore. Not with me.”

Alone in their bedroom, Garak's heart swelled at Bashir's declaration of faith. The strangest thing was, Garak didn't think Bashir's trust misplaced. Bashir was more precious to him than anyone else had ever been, to the point that if Garak had been forced to make a choice between Bashir and Tain in the prison camp, he suspected that he would have chosen Bashir. Obviously the fact that Tain had been dying informed his suspicions, but even so, that thought alone spoke volumes.

Garak tuned back into the argument quite easily as the two had gotten louder as their fighting had escalated.

“Palis, this is _my_ secret and _my_ decision,” Bashir declared. “I'm telling you, I've thought this through!”

“Like you thought through our marriage?”

As soon as the words left Palis's mouth the two of them fell silent. After a few tense moments, Garak heard the telltale whoosh as the door to their quarters opened and closed. He stepped back from the door and took a second to compose himself, then Garak walked back into the main room.

Bashir stood, staring blankly at the space where Garak assumed Palis had been standing. Bashir's expression was a mix of shock and illness, as if he'd just been punched in the stomach.

“Julian?” Garak said softly, moving to Bashir's side and tentatively reaching a hand out to lightly touch Bashir's shoulder.

Bashir started slightly at his touch, then blinked and turned to Garak. “Elim,” he breathed. “You were listening.” It was a statement, not a question and not an accusation. Garak nodded. There was no reason to deny it. Bashir pursed his lips and took in a shuddering breath. “Then you know I have something to tell you.”

Garak gripped Bashir's shoulder, his thumb stroking lightly. “My dear, you don't have to-”

“I _need_ to tell you, Elim,” Bashir said, cutting him off. “Please, just...just listen.” Garak looked into Bashir's eyes, eyes that were usually warm and full of joy, but were now instead desperate and anxious. “I'm...I'm...” Bashir turned away, breaking their contact. He breathed as his hands curled into fists at his sides. “When I was six I was small for my age, a bit awkward physically, not very bright. In the first grade, while the other children were learning how to read and write and use the computer, I was still trying to tell a dog from a cat, a tree from a house. Just before my seventh birthday, my parents took me away. We left Earth for Adigeon Prime.” Bashir whispered the last two words, as if even speaking them would bring the station crashing down on their heads.

Garak resisted the urge to reach out and comfort his lover, afraid that any movement on his part would spook Bashir and keep him from making his confession.

“I was given a room and they began treatments. I didn't understand what was happening, I mostly remember feeling very ill, which is apparently common with accelerated critical neural pathway formation.” Bashir let out a pained chuckle, as if his words were some kind of joke rather than a haunted confession.

“Go on,” Garak prompted softly when Bashir began to fall silent.

Bashir barely turned to glance back at him, though Garak could see the self-deprecating smile curling Bashir's lip. “Mental abilities were the top priority, of course. My IQ jumped five points a day for over two weeks. Followed by improvements in my hand-eye coordination, stamina, vision, reflexes, weight, height. In the end, everything but my name was altered in some way. When we returned to Earth, we even moved to a different city, I was enrolled in a new school using falsified records my parents obtained somewhere.” Bashir shook his head. “If it's ever discovered that I'm genetically enhanced I will at the very least have my medical license revoked and be dismissed from Starfleet. There's a chance I could even be imprisoned since augments like myself are not allowed to practice medicine or join Starfleet.” A sigh that was not quite one of relief escaped Bashir's lips. “So now you know. I'm a fraud.”

For once, Garak found himself at a loss for words, so he used a different language to communicate instead. Garak pulled Bashir into a firm embrace. “Your secret is safe with me, my love,” he murmured.

Bashir let out another sigh, one far more relaxed this time, and rested his forehead against Garak's.

“Palis knows?” Garak asked. He knew the answer, obviously, but he wanted the confirmation.

“About a year into our marriage, my parents visited us. Palis invited them; she didn't know how bad things were between us. My father as good as said there was something illegal in my past, so I told her,” Bashir explained quietly.

After a while, Garak broke the gentle silence. “We should get ready for bed, my dear,” Garak suggested. “You've had a very trying day.”

Bashir said nothing, but allowed himself to be led into the bedroom. He didn't resist as Garak helped him change from his uniform to pajamas and herded him into the bed. He let himself just relax and breathe while Garak moved around him. Bashir refocused when Garak slid into bed beside him and wrapped his arms around Bashir's waist. Garak held Bashir close and pressed soft kisses to the side of his face.

“Trying to comfort me?” Bashir asked quietly.

“Mmm, something like that,” Garak murmured, nuzzling Bashir's cheek.

“Don't worry, Elim. I'm going to be fine,” Bashir said, smiling. He pulled Garak in for a sweet and gentle kiss before they settled in to sleep.

–

The next morning Palis was relieved to find Bashir in the infirmary.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

Palis winced at how cold he sounded towards her, but plowed ahead. “I'm here to apologize for last night. It wasn't fair of me to question your relationship with Elim. If you trust him then that's good enough for me.” She moved closer and placed a hand on Bashir's arm. “Your enhancements are your secret. It's not my place to dictate who you can and can't tell. I shouldn't have said all those things last night. I'm sorry, Julian. Are we alright?” she asked.

He replied with a nod.

Palis smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning away and leaving the infirmary.

She didn't see O'Brien and Zimmerman emerge from another room. She didn't hear the hologram of Bashir ask who that had been.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going away for the weekend, so here's this chapter extra early.
> 
> I've always hated the way Julian's enhancement gets revealed. Not the idea of his parents mistaking the LMH for him, that I like, but the way that his father spells out in painfully exact words what happened. It's not how people talk, especially not about secrets. I tried to rectify that here, having Palis say enough that the secret is revealed without going into detail.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	38. Doctor Bashir, I Presume? - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x16 - Doctor Bashir, I Presume?

Garak headed back to his and Bashir's shared quarters. Bashir was off-duty, but had insisted that Garak still open his shop. Bashir had weakly joked about taking the opportunity to catch up on some reading, but Garak had managed to coax out a smile by promising to come home for lunch.

As Garak turned down the corridor and the door to his quarters came into view he saw O'Brien leaving them, a solemn look on the engineer's face.

“Chief,” Garak greeted politely.

“Garak,” O'Brien returned. “I need to talk to you.”

Garak raised an eye ridge, but otherwise didn't reply.

O'Brien took a moment to gather himself before he spoke again. “Look, it's not my place to explain what happened, but suffice it to say, Julian's had the worst day of his life.” O'Brien frowned. “Just...try not to let him do anything rash.”

“I won't,” Garak conceded, letting his worried confusion show on his face.

O'Brien looked at him for a moment, then gave him a firm nod and left.

When Garak finally made it through the door, he found Bashir standing in front of the viewport, literally staring into space.

“Julian?” Garak called softly as he made his way across the room.

“Zimmerman knows,” Bashir stated in a dull monotone, turning to face Garak.

“What?” Garak's blood ran cold. Judging by O'Brien's attitude in the corridor and Bashir's expression what Zimmerman knew was a dark secret about Bashir, the kind that could end his career, which meant he knew about the genetic enhancements. “How?” Garak breathed. He hadn't checked their quarters for listening devices in over a week. He'd been getting sloppy, letting the security of being involved with a Starfleet officer soften his defenses. Or perhaps it wasn't his fault. Perhaps Bashir's fears that his parents would reveal something had come true.

“It's not your fault,” Bashir was quick to reassure, pulling Garak into an embrace. “Palis said something to the hologram in the infirmary thinking it was me.”

Garak let out a sigh, and then immediately felt guilty for the feeling of relief that swept through him. He'd been so focused on whether or he'd failed to adequately protect Bashir that he was now failing to comfort him.

“What do we do now?” Garak murmured, wrapping his arms around Bashir's waist and holding him close. “Do you have a plan?”

Bashir shook his head, making his beard scratch lightly against the scales on Garak's cheek. “I just hoped it would never happen. ...But my only choice now is whether or not to resign before they discharge me.”

“We could run away,” Garak suggested. “Find somewhere outside of the Federation that could use a brilliant doctor and an excellent tailor or gardener. Ferenginar, for example, would welcome us with open arms. I'm sure Quark would help us for a modest fee.” Garak wasn't serious. He was only spinning out the idea to comfort Bashir, but if Bashir requested it Garak would do everything in his power to make it happen.

“No,” Bashir said firmly. “I don't want to draw this out.” He squeezed Garak tighter as a shiver ran through his body. “What am I going to do? My whole life I've been a Starfleet doctor. I don't know anything else.”

Garak held Bashir tighter in return. He could almost feel the anxiety building up in Bashir. “You taught-”

“I taught basic field medicine at Starfleet Academy,” Bashir said, cutting Garak off, “while working in their infirmary. I can't do that now.”

Garak pulled back, cupping Bashir's face and looking his beloved in the eye. “Then you can work with me. Some of your skills with a laser scalpel must be transferable to a laser cutter.”

“Elim,” Bashir whispered, truly touched, almost unbelieving.

Anything else that either of them might have said was stopped by the door chime.

“Jules, let us in!” Richard Bashir's voice rang through the room, making his son flinch.

“Do you want me to get rid of them?” Garak offered quietly.

Bashir let out a breath and shook his head. “No, this is as much their concern as mine, I'm afraid.”

Garak gently stroked Bashir's cheek with his thumb and quickly kissed Bashir, before stepping back, taking Bashir's hand and squeezing it affectionately.

The door opened and Richard Bashir's indignation rolled over the couple like a wave. Instantly he was ranting about the injustice of it all and proclaiming that Starfleet couldn't do this. It wasn't until Richard declared that they should fight this in court that Bashir decided to interrupt.

“No. We're not fighting this. I just want it resolved.”

Richard, naturally, did not listen to Bashir's protests, and Amsha only spoke up to try to softly encourage Bashir to listen to his father or to otherwise support what Richard was saying.

“If your silly ex-wife hadn't given away everything-”

“Of course; blame Palis!” Bashir exclaimed, throwing his free hand wide in exasperation. “Because it's somehow her fault that her first husband was genetically enhanced. I might not have even told her if you hadn't basically spelled it out for her when you visited. But Richard Bashir is _never_ to blame when any of his schemes go wrong.”

“I'm still your father, Jules, and I will not have you talk to me like that.”

“No, you used to be my father. Now you're my architect. The man who designed a better son to replace the defective one he was given. Well, your design has a built-in flaw. It's illegal.”

“You're so smart. You know so much that you can stand there and judge us. But you're still not smart enough to see that we saved you from a lifetime of remedial education and underachievement!”

“You don't know that. You didn't give me a chance.”

“You were falling behind.”

Garak could feel Bashir's hand trembling in his grasp as he spoke. “I was six years old. You decided I was a failure in the first grade.”

“You don't understand, Jules. You never did.”

“No, _you_ don't understand. I stopped calling myself Jules when I was fifteen and I'd found out what you'd done to me. I'm Julian.”

Garak had actually been wondering about that difference in names. He would have written it off as simply a childhood nickname being used by parents who couldn't quite accept that their son was an adult and no longer under their power, except Garak could sense Bashir's tension rising every time the name Jules was used.

“What difference does that make?”

Garak wasn't sure if Richard was trying to purposefully obfuscate or if he was truly oblivious to the power that names could hold over a person. Either way, it just served as yet another demonstration of how little Richard cared about his son.

“It makes every difference, because I'm different! Can't you see that? Jules Bashir died in that hospital because you couldn't live with the shame of having a son who didn't measure up!”

And there it was. Julian Bashir did not consider himself to actually be the same person as Jules Bashir. It certainly explained why Bashir was so deeply wounded by the idea of being replaced.

Amsha, who had until this point been content to let Richard speak for the both of them, now seemed to be almost jarred into speaking. “That's not true! We were never ashamed of you. Never.”

“I'm sorry, mother, but the truth is-”

“You don't know,” she said, cutting Bashir off. “You've never had a child.”

“No. I haven't,” Bashir replied before she could continue. “Because _someone_ in this family has to think of the consequences of having a child who will have to constantly look over their shoulder, hiding who they are and what they can do, unable to be completely honest with the people closest to them. I don't care about your reasoning for what you did. Your choices have meant that I've lived a life of constant fear.” He sighed. “But at least some of that will be over tomorrow when I visit Captain Sisko to explain the situation and tender my Starfleet resignation.”

Garak had at least had some warning that this could be coming. Amsha and Richard, however, were both taken aback.

Surprisingly, it was Amsha who spoke. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

Bashir nodded. “If I resign quickly enough the details won't be made public. I can at least have a quiet life with Elim.”

Richard looked like he wanted to protest, but Amsha seemed to be deeply affected by her son's words. She nodded back at Bashir and gently led Richard out of Garak and Bashir's quarters.

Bashir let out an exhausted breath and collapsed onto the couch as soon as they were gone. “I've been hiding this secret since I was fifteen and now...” He sighed and turned to Garak. “What if this doesn't work, Elim? What if Starfleet decides to throw me in prison?”

Garak sat beside Bashir and slid an arm around his waist. “Do you really think they will? I've always seen the Federation as almost comically forgiving.”

Bashir shook his head. “I don't know. It's been a hundred years since the last case of an augment in Starfleet, longer since the last case of an enhanced doctor.”

“Hmm, well _if_ they decide to imprison you, I will visit you as often as I am able. That is, unless you'd like me to help you escape to a non-Federation world,” Garak suggested slyly. “Romulus is quite nice this time of year once you get used to all the gray.”

That managed to draw a weak chuckle from Bashir.

“Tell me what you want, my dear. Tell me how to help you.” Garak pressed a light kiss to Bashir's temple, just shy of the cluster of gray hair that grew there.

“Distract me,” Bashir murmured. “When I get like this: unable to act while my mind calculates and recalculates the odds...” He shook his head, as if by doing so he could clear his mind.

Garak frowned, but lightly traced a finger along Bashir's neck to where his shirt began about midway down his shoulder. The material of the shirt was comfortable and soft and Garak absently toyed with it. While Bashir would normally shiver with anticipation at this kind of touch, this time he merely let out a weary sigh.

“Maybe some intellectual stimulation would be more appropriate,” Garak suggested quietly, unwilling to try to press onward without some kind of encouragement.

To his relief, Bashir nodded. “Yes, just anything to occupy my mind.”

“Perhaps a game then?” Garak proposed, standing up and crossing to the shelf where he kept an assortment of odds and ends. He ran his hand over a dark lacquer box and the subtle design of inlaid black stone that created a beautiful contrast of texture beneath his fingertips. “I've never gotten the chance to introduce you to kotra.”

He pulled out the box and walked back to the couch, laying the box on the table in front of them. Bashir drew closer to look on as Garak began to open the box, watching as it unfolded into a board covered in Cardassian symbols and a few compartments that held a pair of dice and two sets of pieces: one silver and one gold.

Bashir had only a passing familiarity with kotra, knowing little beyond that it was considered roughly comparable to chess and had been mentioned in a few of the books Garak had given him.

“Non-Cardassians generally find the game difficult to properly wrap their heads around for the first few games, but I think that you'll appreciate the challenge,” Garak said, giving Bashir a small smile. “Now, would you rather be silver or gold?”

“Is there a difference?” Bashir asked.

Garak shook his head.

“Gold, then.”

Garak nodded and began to explain the rules as he set out the pieces. Bashir was silent for the most part, but he asked a few questions so he was clearly interested and engaged. Finally, the board was prepared. As Bashir went to reach for the dice, Garak caught his hand.

“Julian,” Garak whispered, shifting his grip so that he could tangle their fingers together. “Forgive me, but I have to wonder...have you been holding back with me all this time?”

Bashir bit his lip, but he kept meeting Garak's gaze, his brown eyes sincere. “Only with the details: being slower to reach conclusions, half-remembering quotes, not recalling the exact day something happened. Those sorts of things. I never held back my opinions or my beliefs or anything that really mattered.”

“Do you...hold back during...other things?”

“I did a little at first,” Bashir admitted, almost guiltily. “But I stopped entirely when we got back together after I disabled your implant.”

Garak silently considered this, then he said “You don't have to hold yourself back at all with me. It may take me some time to readjust, but...” He trailed off at the look of overwhelming adoration Bashir was giving him.

“Elim, _thank_ you.”

Garak glanced away shyly, unable to handle the sheer amount of love and gratitude that Bashir was directing towards him. “My dear, considering how accepting you've been of me and my...” Garak waved his hand as if to indicate his issues, his lies, and his past all in one, “it would be hypocritical of me to not at the very least try to accept yours.”

Bashir grasped Garak's hand and said nothing for a very long time, causing Garak to wonder if he'd somehow made a misstep in his attempts to comfort Bashir. But eventually Bashir suggested they return their attention to the game, a suggestion that Garak was happy to go along with.

–

The next day, Garak's attention kept shifting away from the pants that he was supposed to be altering. Instead he found himself fretting about Bashir. Garak had tried to make the morning comforting without being smothering. He'd taken the initiative of replicating breakfast while Bashir slept in a bit. He'd offered to pick out an outfit as well, but Bashir had insisted on wearing his uniform for one last time.

The sound of the door opening caused Garak to turn away from his work. Bashir stood in the doorway looking dazed. Garak immediately abandoned his work and crossed to Bashir's side.

“Julian, are you alright?” Garak asked, forcing himself to remain calm as he took Bashir's arm and ushered him further inside. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Bashir answered. Then he blinked and chuckled. “I mean, it wasn't really _nothing._ It's...” Another laugh burst from his lips as he shook his head in disbelief.

Garak watched with mild concern until the laughter faded.

“I get to _stay,_ Elim. I get to keep my job.” Bashir's incredulous expression revealed that he could hardly believe the news he was delivering.

Garak felt like a weight had been lifted from him and smiled. “My dear, that's wonderful news. How did you manage it?”

Bashir's face darkened slightly and the corners of his mouth began to tug down. “I didn't. My parents went behind my back and negotiated with Ben and Admiral Bennett before I got there.” He paused. “My father is going to prison for what he did, and I can keep my post.” Bashir's expression grew puzzled, as if he wasn't quite sure how to feel.

“They're willing to make an exception for you just because your father turned himself in?” Garak asked skeptically. That sounded rather lenient to the Cardassian.

“The admiral said that in light of my long and unblemished career and my clear focus on helping people through medicine rather than rising through the ranks, it was evident that I wasn't a danger to the Federation, that I was an exception to the ancient advice for dealing with Augments.” Garak gave Bashir a searching look, prompting him to quote, with a dry tone “Superior ability breeds superior ambition.” Bashir shrugged. “I put my Starfleet career aside for Palis. I've taken less desirable postings because they piqued my curiosity or struck me as seriously needing aid. I moved frequently from post to post as emergencies faded, never truly staying long enough to set myself up for promotion. This assignment was my first time serving as CMO and it came quickly after my promotion to lieutenant commander. So I suppose all of that was enough to convince Admiral Bennett that I am not the ambitious augment the Federation fears.”

Garak nodded as he considered this. “And you're facing no reprimands or repercussions?” he questioned, unable to fully believe their good fortune.

“Not officially,” Bashir replied, his tone and expression acknowledging that he could very easily face unofficial repercussions later.

Garak decided to put that concern aside for now. Bashir was not only a free man, he was going to retain his position on the station. They should be cherishing this moment.

Bashir let out a soft noise of surprise as Garak pulled him into a strong embrace.

“I'm glad you're safe, my dear.”

–

Only two days had passed since Bashir had been told that he would get to keep his post on DS9.

In that time Bashir had seen his parents off at the airlock, more to reassure himself that they were actually leaving the station than out of an actual attempt to reconnect. Then shortly after that there had been his more heartfelt farewell with a still incredibly apologetic Palis. Every time she'd apologized Bashir had reassured her that he bore her no ill will, and besides, everything had worked out in the end. Palis had still seemed rather sheepish when she'd finally departed, but she'd at least seemed convinced that Bashir didn't blame her.

And now Bashir paced anxiously around his and Garak's quarters, periodically stopping to adjust his uniform. This afternoon was going to be his first shift in the infirmary since the revelation of his genetically enhanced status, and Bashir had been fretting since the morning when Garak had managed to coax Bashir into promising that he'd join Garak and Ziyal for lunch that day before the tailor had left to run his shop.

“Julian, what's the matter?” Garak asked as he entered their quarters. He'd anticipated that Bashir would need extra care and support, hence why Garak returned to their quarters to fetch him, rather than going straight from his shop to the replimat and assuming Bashir would meet him there.

“People know now,” Bashir whispered, twisting his hands nervously together. “Yesterday, after I saw Palis off...people were staring at me, watching for any sign of my augmentations. Maybe it would be better for me to take some leave and keep a low profile for a bit, just until everything blows over...?”

Garak let out a sigh. _Julian doesn't realize how well-off he is if curious and wary looks are the worst of what he's gotten._ Garak took Bashir's hands in his own and gave Bashir a warm look.

“Julian, my love, there are going to be looks, perhaps even worse. There will be people looking for a sign that you're about to turn into a threat, however most of them are probably just unsure about how to deal with this revelation.” Garak dropped one of Bashir's hands and reached up to cup his jaw, Garak's thumb trailing up the line of Bashir's beard. “They're looking to you for cues on how to respond. Walk proudly. You haven't done anything wrong, so don't act like it. Stand like the Starfleet officer you _still are._ ”

Bashir opened his mouth to speak, then paused and looked abashed. “I suppose you, of all people, would know better than most what it's like to be the subject of that kind of attention.”

“Like you're a dangerous animal that could lash out at any moment? Like you're something to be both feared and hated?” Garak asked wryly, drawing a sheepish smile from Bashir. “Yes, I have some familiarity with that experience.” More to give Bashir the confidence boost than because it was truly needed, Garak gave Bashir's uniform a quick once-over and brushed his hands over the shoulders. “Now, you're going to come to lunch with Ziyal and I, and you're going to show everyone that you are the same wonderful, charming Doctor Julian Bashir that they knew before.”

That was all the coaxing Bashir needed. He took Garak's hand and they headed out to the replimat.

–

Chalan Aroya stopped in Garak's store shortly before closing to pick up a dress she'd ordered, and offer her impression of the gossip surrounding Bashir as well as her personal support while she was there. She'd happened to make an off-hand remark about how Bashir seemed to be doing alright when she saw O'Brien cheerfully ushering the doctor into Quark's for their semi-regular darts games.

It was that information, so casually delivered, that prompted Garak to stealthily approach Quark's after closing his own shop for the night. Garak wanted to gauge for himself the attitudes directed at Bashir, and, nearly as importantly, how Bashir was fitting in with his friends after the reveal of his genetic enhancements. It would be easier to gather this information if he was unobserved.

“I don't need you to patronize me. I can play at your level,” O'Brien declared.

“I never said you couldn't,” Bashir replied mildly. Garak suspected that Bashir was attempting to deflect, hoping to avoid revealing exactly how different his enhancements made him.

“Well play then. Really play.”

Bashir, realizing there was no way he could get out of this, let out a sigh, looked at the board and quickly threw all three of his darts. All of them hit the bullseye.

O'Brien glanced at the board, then at Bashir. He crossed over to the board and collected the darts. Garak could tell that O'Brien was thinking quickly, trying to come up with some sort of plan.

“Alright,” O'Brien began. He handed back the darts and gently grasped Bashir's upper arms, guiding him back to double the distance from the board. “From now on you play from over here. I play from up here. And if that doesn't work, we'll try a blindfold.” O'Brien gave a wry smile, making it clear that he meant no malice.

Bashir chuckled and nodded his agreement to the new rules.

Garak smiled to himself as the game resumed, pleased to see that at least one of Bashir's coworkers was accepting him.

Garak had fully intended to fade into the crowd and make his way back to their quarters, allowing Bashir to have some time feeling accepted without Garak being there, but his plan was thwarted by O'Brien spotting Garak and waving him over before he could slip away. It was only a brief moment before Bashir noticed him as well, and then Garak had no choice but to walk over to the two.

“I hope you aren't going to stop on my account.” Garak had no intentions of pulling Bashir away while O'Brien was trying so hard to give Bashir a sense of normality.

“Oh no,” Bashir replied with a grin. “What do you say to a new set, Miles? Best three out of five?”

O'Brien nodded at Bashir and directed a smile at Garak. “Sure thing, Julian.”

Garak found himself smiling back. “I think I'll go get a glass of kanar. Should I get anything for you two while I'm at the bar?”

“Ask Quark for two pints,” Bashir answered, glancing quickly at O'Brien who nodded a confirmation.

They'd already finished the first game and were partially through the game by the time Garak got the drinks. After the second round Garak handed each of the players their drinks, earning a grateful look from O'Brien and a quiet “Thanks, darling” from Bashir.

“So when are you two going to get hitched?” O'Brien asked jokingly.

Garak caught Bashir's startled eyes for a brief moment before letting his gaze slide to his kanar, leaving Bashir to respond to the question.

“Miles!” Bashir quietly exclaimed, cheeks flushing.

“C'mon, Julian, I'm tired of being the only married one on the senior staff,” O'Brien continued teasing.

Garak finished his kanar and looked up with a smile. “Well, I think I'll leave the two of you to your game,” he announced, leaving the empty glass on the bar. Then, just because he knew it would cause Bashir to blush harder, he kissed Bashir's cheek and murmured “See you soon, dear.”

Garak could hear O'Brien trying to stifle laughter while he left the bar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Julian Bashir Suffering Trilogy comes to a close. I hope liked how this episode turned out. :)


	39. A Simple Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x17 - A Simple Investigation

“Elim, are you free Saturday?” Bashir asked as he nearly skipped into Garak's shop, almost giddy with excitement.

Garak looked up from the display he was adjusting. “I can be. What are you planning?”

“So I told Felix about how we'd altered his secret agent program to allow for you to properly join me by replacing Colonel Anastasia Komanov with Colonel Elim Garak and making it so that the program would only generate scenarios requiring you when you were actually present. He was apparently inspired, because he sent me this.” Bashir held up an isolinear rod. “According to his message, he's revamped the whole program to include a two player mode using our idea. _And_ he said that sometimes we'll be given secret objectives alongside our main goals in working together.”

A feeling of warmth spread through Garak's chest and pushed a smile onto his face. He'd been so relieved and delighted when Bashir had invited him to return to the original secret agent holoprogram after Garak had broken in and the characters had been replaced with the members of the senior staff. Bashir had been quick to reassure Garak that their relationship was still secure, despite everything that had happened, but then he'd gone out of his way to allow Garak into his spy games, despite Bashir's embarrassment about people knowing what he got up to in them.

The initial workaround had been Bashir's idea. Garak had complained about not really having anything to do other than simply tag along, watching Bashir accomplish everything. Bashir had suggested that Garak could take on the role of one of the other characters. They'd eventually settled on replacing the KGB agent, since, as Bashir pointed out, he didn't need to play at having a long-term relationship with a charming spy from a rival power while he actually was involved with one in real life. Garak had performed a token version of his plain and simple tailor routine, both of them fully aware that Bashir did not believe that for a moment.

It had occasionally thrown a wrench into things when Garak was more competent and showed more initiative than the program expected, but they'd managed to make things work.

Bashir still used the secret agent program alone, since Garak didn't enjoy playing spies nearly as much as Bashir did, but it had ultimately become something special shared between the two of them, in the same way that Bashir wouldn't play at being WWII fighter pilots with anyone besides O'Brien. Although Bashir's time in the holosuite with the two men tended to be spent in very different fashions.

–

Saturday couldn't arrive quickly enough, but arrive it did, and Bashir and Garak made their way to Quark's in their customary tuxedos, anticipation rolling off the two of them.

Once in the program they were separated and sent off to their own briefings about the latest madman threatening the world. They weren't reunited until one costume change later during a shootout in a train station that they escaped by jumping on a train just as it began to leave. They both holstered their guns as they found an empty compartment and slipped inside.

Bashir was flushed with excitement and his eyes sparkled with delight as he sat beside Garak. “What a lovely surprise to run into you, comrade,” Bashir said teasingly, his hand finding a place on Garak's knee.

“Surely you knew to expect someone from my government?” Garak replied in kind. “I got the job as soon as they found out you were the MI6 agent assigned. The KGB is starting to suspect you have a weakness for me.”

Bashir leaned in, his breath caressing the very top of Garak's neck ridge as he whispered in Garak's ear. “Well they aren't wrong, but little do they know this weakness runs both ways.”

Garak turned and caught Bashir's mouth in a kiss. Garak slipped one of his hands under Bashir's jacket and around his waist. Meanwhile Bashir's hand slid up Garak's leg to settle at Garak's hip and the other one wrapped around the back of Garak's head.

“Incredible,” Bashir murmured between kisses. “You're simply incredible.”

Garak smirked as he brought his free hand up to undo Bashir's tie and the first few buttons of Bashir's shirt. “We have until the train reaches Paris for me to show you exactly how incredible I truly am, Julian.”

Bashir gazed at Garak, his eyes dark with lust, and opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a knock on the window.

In an instant the two of them had separated and drawn their guns. Bashir glanced at Garak, who nodded, then slowly Bashir opened the window and blinked in surprise at who he found.

“Odo.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Odo said, seeming slightly uncomfortable. “I need to talk to you.”

Bashir slid away from the window and gestured for Odo to come inside as both Bashir and Garak put their guns away. As Odo sat on the seat across from the two, Garak tried to discreetly smooth down his hair, which had become somewhat wild due to Bashr's attentions.

Odo glanced at that and Bashir's undone tie and awkwardly cleared his throat. “I didn't mean to... If you two were in the middle of something, I can leave.”

Bashir shook his head. “It's fine Odo.”

Odo hesitated, glancing at Garak who had remained uncharacteristically silent. “How do you tell if someone is...interested?”

Bashir and Garak exchanged a look.

“Well, it's a bit easier for us,” Garak stated. “One of the advantages of a relationship is that you're committed to each other. You get to know the person's moods and patterns, the subtleties of their tone and body language. And you can plan things as well. But again, there's a stability when you're in a relationship.”

Bashir gave Odo a sly smile. “This is about bedroom eyes, isn't it?”

“Who told you about her?” Odo glanced between the two of them. “Kira? Quark?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Dax.”

“Actually, it was Miles,” Bashir replied. “If people are talking, it's only because they care. You put on a good front, but anyone who really knows you can tell that you're lonely. If you're interested in this woman, you have to let her know.”

“I can't.”

Bashir leaned forward. “Why not?”

“What if I? What if she?”

“Rejects you? She might.” Bashir sneaked a quick glance at Garak. “But you can't go through life trying to avoid getting a broken heart. If you do, it'll break from loneliness anyway. So you might as well take a chance. If you don't, she'll move on and you'll never know what you might have had. And living with that is worse than having a broken heart, believe me.” Garak's hand found Bashir's and they subtly tangled their fingers together.

“Odo, if I may suggest something?” Garak paused until Odo nodded for him to continue. “Let her know. You have little to lose and potentially quite a lot to gain. Besides, Julian is right, the what ifs and the unknown are more painful than rejection because you can easily torture yourself with how things could have gone differently if you'd just said something. At least if you're rejected you have that certainty.” Bashir gave Garak's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Odo considered this for a moment, then said “Thank you. Both of you. I'll let you get back to your...game.” They both nodded their farewells as Odo slipped back out the window. After closing the window, Garak turned back to Bashir and began to toy with his undone collar.

“Now, where were we?” Garak asked with a smirk.

“I believe-” Bashir stopped speaking as the train began to slow to a halt. He glanced out the window past Garak's head and let out a huff. “Damn, Paris already.”

Garak sighed and helped redo Bashir's tie. “We should probably be careful, they've likely contacted someone here to intercept us. Fortunately, I know a hotel where we should be able to lie low for a bit...and perhaps lie in a few other ways as well.”

“Then lead on, darling.” Bashir grinned as he followed Garak back into the world of their spy game.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I'd worked out how I felt Julian and Garak would play the secret agent program together, I had to find a way to work it into the story. Since Julian would be playing spies with his partner instead of his coworkers, that plotline from A Simple Investigation needed to be reworked, but it provided a nice way for Julian and Garak's version of playing spies to slide into the narrative of the story.


	40. Children of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x22 - Children of Time

Garak tried to contain his excitement when the computer alerted him that the Defiant had returned to the station. The senior staff had been gone for over a week on a reconnaissance mission in the Gamma Quadrant, but just because the ship had returned that didn't mean that Bashir would be immediately free. All too frequently he was required to go straight from the ship to the infirmary to treat a patient, with no time to see Garak in between.

Instead of rushing to the airlock to greet Bashir, he instead focused his energy on the pile of alterations he had to make. The more of these he could get done, the more time he could justify spending with Bashir and away from his shop once the doctor was finally free.

It turned out fortunate that he hadn't tried to immediately see Bashir because soon O'Brien came into the shop.

“Garak, Julian asked me to tell you that he was needed in the infirmary, but he'll find you as soon as he can get away.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Garak replied. It was slightly unusual for Bashir to feel the need to send one of his friends by when he'd been held up, but Garak appreciated the gesture nevertheless.

O'Brien hesitated, clearly trying to determine whether or not he should say anything. Finally, he decided to speak. “He cares for you a lot, you know. If something tore the two of you apart, well...I don't know how Julian would stand it.”

Garak looked at O'Brien, unsure how to respond. By now Garak was somewhat used to Bashir's friends pointing out how much Garak meant to Bashir, originally as a warning, but now more as an affirmation that Garak belonged on the station, but there was something different about this time. Something must have happened on the mission.

Unsure how to respond, Garak nodded, slightly discomforted by the emotional turn the conversation had taken.

Clearly feeling similarly uncomfortable, O'Brien cleared his throat. “Say, how long would it take you to make a few sets of doll clothes? It's Molly's birthday soon.”

The two quickly turned their discussion to the less fraught topic of Molly's birthday gift.

–

Shortly after O'Brien left, Garak decided to close up his shop for the day. It wasn't much earlier than he would have closed normally anyway, and Bashir usually liked to go right back to their quarters after an away mission.

Garak barely had time to replicate a mug of tea and settle in with a book before Bashir arrived, his face lighting up the instant he saw Garak.

“Welcome back, Julian,” Garak greeted as he set aside his mug and stood up.

Bashir pulled him into a firm embrace. _“Elim._ I missed you so much, my love.” Bashir kissed Garak with the kind of desperation that was normal after a long separation, not so much sexual as simply trying to make up for lost time and lost affection. Though the sexual desperation quickly appeared as Bashir shifted his attention from Garak's mouth to his neck ridges. The two separated just long enough for them to relocate to the bedroom for their proper reunion.

Afterwards, Bashir pressed tender kisses to Garak's body as he lay against the Cardassian's chest, and Garak basked in the affection.

“I love you so, _so_ much, Elim,” Bashir murmured against the teardrop shaped indentation on Garak's chest.

Garak ran his fingers through Bashir's hair. “I love you too, Julian.” He sighed. “I missed you quite a bit while you were away.”

Bashir turned to look up at Garak, a soft smile on his lips. “Not just as a source of heat, I trust?”

Garak gazed at this man who had won over his heart, who was the light of his life, who was essentially his whole world, and replied “Obviously I missed the sex too.”

Bashir snorted with laughter.

“Come up here,” Garak beckoned with a smile, pulling Bashir into a kiss as he drew closer.

Bashir settled into his new place with a sigh.

Garak was loath to interrupt the tender moment, but his curiosity was overwhelming. He cupped Bashir's cheek and said “Are you going to willingly tell me what happened on the mission or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

A soft chuckle escaped Bashir's lips as his eyes opened to meet Garak's. “I should have known you'd ask sooner or later.”

“That's not an answer, dear.”

“I know,” Bashir replied, smiling.

“Is it classified?” Garak asked.

Bashir shook his head. “No, just odd. The mission itself wasn't a problem, but on the way back Jadzia spotted a planet surrounded by an energy barrier and wanted to investigate. Unfortunately, when we went through the barrier it damaged the ship. We were trapped for a few days while we made repairs.”

“So far this sounds like a fairly ordinary incident,” Garak noted.

“That's because I'm just starting,” Bashir replied with a smirk. “After we were through the barrier, we were contacted by the planet's inhabitants.”

“Is this where it gets unusual?”

“Do you want to hear what happened or not?” Bashir demanded gently.

Garak's silence served as his answer.

“The planet's inhabitants were all descended from the crew of the Defiant.”

“How is that-” Garak began before cutting himself off with a sigh. “...continue, dear.”

“According to them, when the Defiant tried to leave, it was thrown back in time two centuries and we were marooned there. With the ship wrecked and no way to get help, we supposedly made the best of things. The planet was crawling with Siskos, Idarises...” Bashir trailed off, glancing away uncomfortably.

“Bashirs?” Garak prompted softly.

Bashir nodded. For a moment, they were both silent, then Bashir said “I never married. Apparently Miles and I were about the only ones who didn't. But I had children... Dax, Yedrin Dax, the one from the colony, said it took me years to adjust. He suspected that part of the reason I had children at all was because they could grow up without the Federation stigma from inheriting my enhanced genes hanging over them, which I could have never done otherwise.”

“It must have been strange,” Garak said, trying to suppress his hurt, trying to remind himself that the Bashir who'd made that decision had been stranded two hundred years in the past with no way to get back, trying to focus on the Bashir that was here in his arms. “Suddenly being the founder of a whole line.”

“Yes, it was,” Bashir agreed, a slightly distant look on his face. “But I know I never stopped loving you.” Garak wanted to ask how Bashir could be so certain, but Bashir beat him to the punch. “In the clinic, I met my great great great great granddaughter, the doctor. Her name was Mila Bashir.”

Garak was so taken aback that he said nothing.

“Apparently quite a few of my descendants had Cardassian names.” Bashir paused. “She told me that her father's name was Elim. Elim Bashir.”

Garak was touched and overwhelmed and unable to say anything, so he gently kissed Bashir instead. Then he asked “Why Mila?” Garak hadn't told Bashir who his mother was, though he wouldn't have been too surprised if Bashir had managed to puzzle it out, since Bashir knew who his father was.

Bashir shrugged. “I imagine it was after Tain's housekeeper. When...when you were dying because of the implant, she helped me save your life.” Bashir frowned thoughtfully, clearly considering something. “She seemed concerned for you.”

“She's been Tain's housekeeper since before I was born,” Garak replied, trusting Bashir to understand what he was implying.

A soft “oh!” let Garak know that Bashir had realized exactly what Garak's relationship with Mila was.

“So how did you escape?” Garak asked, bringing their conversation back to the topic of the mission.

“We almost didn't,” Bashir whispered. “But Odo, the one from the planet, not our Odo, changed our flight plan. ...There were almost eight thousand people living on that planet.”

Garak tightened his grip on Bashir, keenly aware of how close he'd come to losing the love of his life. “It's understandable for you to mourn their loss,” Garak said softly. He knew Bashir's tender heart all too well.

Bashir frowned. “Obviously I'm not happy that they're gone, but I'm very thankful that I'm here with you.” He kissed Garak gently, lovingly.

“I'm thankful as well, my love,” Garak echoed, before pulling Bashir in for yet another sweet kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this and the last chapter were so short. Writing was slow for a bit so I've been posting individual episodes separately rather than putting them together into larger chapters. It's allowed me to keep posting every other week without driving myself crazy. Hopefully we'll be back to longer chapters soon.
> 
> Also, hey, I've been posting this story for just over a year now!


	41. Empok Nor and In The Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x24 - Empok Nor and 5x25 - In The Cards

Bashir sat, his hands entwined together pensively with his face resting on them. The drug would be out of Garak's system now, the only reason his Cardassian lover was unconscious was that he needed to rest. He knew that with that rest, Garak would be physically fine again. But Bashir couldn't help but wonder if he was actually resting, or if behind those eyes he was being haunted. He wondered if Garak would ever rest again. He'd lost everything, his father, his home, his livelihood. He depended on Bashir for much of his stability and as the man who allowed Garak to be relatively accepted by those around him. Bashir could forgive him for what he'd just done, he knew it wasn't the real Garak, but would Garak ever believe he'd forgiven him? Would Starfleet, the Federation's institution that Bashir had given his life to, ever forgive Garak? Would Starfleet ever forgive Bashir for loving him?

“He looks so peaceful.” O'Brien had entered the infirmary without Bashir noticing. “It's hard to believe he's the same man.” O'Brien raised his brows and shook his head in disbelief.

“He's not the same man,” Bashir said a bit too hastily. “I mean, in many ways, that wasn't him. Not really.” He hoped he didn't seem to desperate to convince the Chief. He knew O'Brien already had reason to resent Cardassians, but he'd hoped Garak could be an exception.

“I know.” O'Brien nodded solemnly. Bashir wasn't sure if that was simply the Chief's way of ensuring Bashir didn't beg forgiveness right there, or if he actually believed it. “Look, Julian...” O'Brien looked at Garak sleeping uncomfortably. “Is he going to be alright?”

“The drug has been flushed out of his system.” Bashir exhaled and let a soothing smile appear on his face. “He's going to be fine.”

“That's not what I meant,” O'Brien said, in almost a matter-of-fact way.

“I'll make sure he is,” Bashir said firmly. He stood up and gave a different smile to the Chief now. One of that conveyed his gratitude for genuine concern.

“Julian, Garak was right when he said the war changed me.” O'Brien inhaled, he clearly did not like thinking about this. “The truth is, I hardly remember the old Miles O'Brien. I'm not saying I didn't get through it. I did. But...” He looked toward Garak again. “You may not know the new man who wakes up.” He directed his gaze back to Bashir. “If Keiko had fallen in love with me before the Border Wars, I don't see how I could expect her to love me after.”

“But she didn't meet you before. And she does love you now.” Bashir smiled. The last thing he wanted was for O'Brien to get lost in what-ifs.

“What I'm trying to say, Julian.” O'Brien took a step forward, still looking at Bashir. “You've fallen in love with a man...” He looked back to Garak. “Who may no longer exist.”

Bashir felt a shiver down his spine. This was what O'Brien had been dancing around, and Bashir had known it, but he didn't want to hear it. He couldn't know what was going to happen, how Garak would or wouldn't change. He didn't even know what he wanted Garak's reaction to be. He only knew that he had to be prepared.

“Thank you, Miles. I'll keep that in mind.” He nodded, acknowledging the warning. In no way did he feel prepared.

“I know counselors will tell you that after a traumatic experience, you can work through it and become yourself again.” O'Brien's eyes darted to Garak before returning to Bashir.

“But you don't believe that?” Bashir asked softly, almost dreading the answer.

O'Brien shrugged his shoulders. “When one has been angry for a very long time, one gets used to it. And it becomes comfortable, like... like old leather. And finally... it becomes so familiar that one can't ever remember feeling any other way.”

Bashir hesitantly nodded, unsure of what to say.

O'Brien offered a comforting look. “Let me know if you need a round of darts, or a drink.” Then, having spoken his piece, he turned and left. Leaving Bashir with the steadiness of Garak's breathing and the soft sounds of the monitors for company.

–  
Bashir stared across the table at Jadzia, not quite seeing, and certainly not listening. His thoughts were entirely on Garak's hearing.

Due to Bashir's relationship with Garak, he was too close to give a proper, unbiased medical opinion. That responsibility had been handed off to another doctor. Bashir could have attended the hearing as Garak's partner, but Garak had privately asked Bashir not to.

Garak had been very quiet since the incident on Empok Nor. Part of that had been due to his needing to rest and recover, but part of that was clearly from guilt over his actions on that station. Garak had been unable to meet Bashir's eyes and had even shied away from Bashir's touch more than once since being released from the infirmary.

“Julian?” Jadzia asked, cutting through his thoughts. From her concerned expression it was clear that she'd said his name more than once.

“I'm sorry, Jadzia.” He sighed. “I just can't stop worrying about him.”

Jadzia gave him a sympathetic smile. “If you'd rather go back to your quarters, I'll understand.”

Bashir shook his head. “No, that will only make it worse.”

“I'm sure he'll be fine,” Jadzia reassured. “He was clearly not in his right mind, _and_ Miles is testifying on his behalf.”

Bashir sighed. “It's not so much the hearing that I'm worried about. Convincing Elim that this was not his fault is going to be much harder.”

Jadzia patted his shoulder. “Have you suggested that he try seeing a therapist? I know the holocounselor helped you a lot when you were dealing with the aftermath of being imprisoned by the Dominion.”

“He doesn't like doctors, and he doesn't like talking about his mental state,” Bashir said, shaking his head. “It makes him feel too exposed. I've suggested it before. It's not healthy for him to be so dependent on me, but there's only so much I can do if he refuses to seek help.”

Jadzia frowned, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by O'Brien approaching their table.

“Julian, I've got good news,” O'Brien announced. “Garak's been cleared of all wrongdoing.”

Bashir turned to O'Brien and smiled. “Thanks, Chief.”

O'Brien shook his head with a chuckle. “So? Don't just sit around; go congratulate him! I think he headed back to your quarters. Go on.”

Bashir let O'Brien nudge him out of his seat and allowed himself to be shooed from the bar. He made his way through the habitat ring, and only barely hesitated at the door before entering their quarters.

“Elim?” he called as he stepped past the door.

Garak was sitting on the couch. He barely glanced at Bashir as Bashir sat beside him.

“Miles told me the good news,” Bashir stated with a tentative smile.

“Good news, my dear?” Garak returned with a tone so falsely cheerful it bordered on sarcastic. He turned to face Bashir, allowing Bashir to see the bitterness in his eyes.

Bashir's smile began to fade. “That... well, the hearing...”

“Ah, yes, Amaro's killer goes free.” Garak gave Bashir a cynical smile. “I suppose that's good news or bad news, depending on the perspective.”

“ _You_ being free is certainly good news from _my_ perspective,” Bashir replied, suppressing the urge to sigh.

“You're biased,” Garak dismissed.

“Justice is not biased,” Bashir insisted, placing his hand on Garak's knee, thankful that Garak didn't pull away. “You're innocent.”

“You're saying I didn't kill Amaro? That I didn't stab him with a flux coupler, watch the life leave his eyes, and smile?”

“I...” 

“Or maybe you're saying I had to do it?” Garak suggested mockingly. “That even though he meant me no harm I was somehow defending myself? Was binding Nog, stringing up bodies, and preparing to murder the Chief all some necessary act?”

This was a test, a challenge, and Bashir wasn't going to back down. “Elim, you were drugged.”

“You know, that is a marvelous defense.” Garak's smile twisted into something harsh and cruel. “If I were still in the Order, I think I'd take the substance willingly and massacre the station in the service of Cardassia!” He let out a bitter laugh.

“Elim...” Bashir frowned, but resisted the urge to reach out, fearing it would only make Garak lash out more.

“No doubt you would insist on capturing me alive and, if you did, purge the drug from my system and send me off on my merry way as being 'cured'!” Garak sneered.

“You didn't take it willingly. It wasn't what you wanted,” Bashir protested, staying firm.

Garak leaned in again. “Are you sure about that?” he whispered harshly, his breath crashing against Bashir's lips as his hand came up to wrap around Bashir's throat. It's wasn't firm. Garak didn't squeeze. He just let his hand rest there, the threat implicit.

Bashir met his gaze readily. “I know you, Elim,” he said, wrapping his hand around Garak's and gently pulling it away from his throat. “You wouldn't be trying so hard to convince me that you don't feel guilty if you truly didn't.”

Garak glared at him.

“I know the man I love,” Bashir said softly. “Justice has been served, Elim. You should at least try to forgive yourself.” When Garak said nothing, Bashir continued on. “Look, you're feeling guilty about what happened, you don't want to admit it, but I can tell. That's how I know you're not the monster you seem to think you are, because that monster wouldn't care. If that was who you really were, you wouldn't be sitting here with me now.”

“Because you wouldn't have fallen in love with me?” Garak scoffed.

“Because you wouldn't have let me get this close to you,” Bashir quietly replied.

They sat frozen for a moment, then Garak leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bashir's. The kiss was soft and ended quickly.

Bashir frowned slightly when Garak pulled back. “I hope you're not trying to use romance to distract me.”

Garak didn't bother looking hurt, he simply smiled and kissed Bashir again. “I wouldn't dream of it, my dear,” he murmured against Bashir's lips.

Bashir broke the kiss and instead pulled Garak into an embrace. After a few moments of silence, he said “I wish you would talk to a professional about this.”

“I thought I was, _Doctor_ Bashir.”

“I specialized in surgery, not psychiatry,” Bashir corrected. “Besides, I'm your partner. I don't have the necessary professional distance to really help you.” He sighed. “I'm just concerned about you.”

Garak said nothing, so Bashir held him tighter.

“I love you, Elim. We've made it through so much, and we'll make it through this too.”

Garak's soft sigh as he melted into Bashir's embrace wasn't exactly encouraging, but it was something, and that was all Bashir needed.

–

Weeks later, Bashir found himself keenly wishing Garak had accepted Sisko's dinner invitation. Instead, Garak had given him a pointed look when Bashir had mentioned that both O'Brien and Nog would be there before retreating back into his reading.

Garak had been withdrawn since Empok Nor, rarely venturing anywhere besides their quarters or his shop, despite Bashir's efforts to get him to socialize. They hadn't stopped having lunches together, but all too often they became a struggle where Bashir had to coax Garak out of his shop. Bashir was worried, obviously, but there was a hard limit on what he could do to help when Garak was avoiding him as well.

Bashir sipped at his scotch. Normally, Sisko's dinner parties would serve as a brilliant morale booster, helping to cheer up everyone who attended, but clearly he wasn't the only one feeling melancholy at the moment. Even Sisko's attempts at light conversation seemed halfhearted.

“I think I'll turn in,” Bashir said, abandoning his glass as he stood. “Thank you for the meal, Ben.”

“You're welcome. It's a shame Garak couldn't make it,” Sisko replied.

Bashir grimaced, then left.

When he returned to his quarters, Bashir was surprised to find Garak actually in them. Garak had started staying late in his shop to avoid Bashir when he felt Bashir was being too pushy. Bashir gave a weak smile to Garak as he joined him on the couch, their legs barely touching.

“How was the party, dear?” Garak asked. Even though he clearly didn't want to ask, he couldn't suppress that old instinct to gather information.

“Depressing,” Bashir replied with a sigh. “This conflict with the Dominion has everyone down.” He placed his arm on the back of the couch and turned to Garak. “You were missed though. Ben, Miles, Jadzia, Odo, even Nerys asked about you.”

Garak glanced away. “They were likely just seeking reassurance that I am once again not a threat.”

Bashir frowned. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Garak standing.

“I'm going to bed,” Garak announced. “I'd like to get an early start tomorrow.”

Bashir blinked up at him, but quickly recovered. “Right. Of course. I'll join you.”

Garak slowly nodded as Bashir got to his feet. They both headed to the bedroom and soon fell asleep.

–

Bashir wasn't really in the mood for antics when Nog and Jake came to the infirmary looking for five liters of anaerobic metabolites suspended in hydrosaline solution. It was the first opportunity he'd had to do any research on his prion project in months and that project at least seemed complicated enough to distract him from Garak's recent behavior. But when Nog asked Bashir to name one thing that would make him happy, there was only one thing that came to mind.

“Elim.”

“But you're living together,” Jake cut in. “You see him all the time.”

“And I'm the only one he'll see at all lately,” Bashir replied with a weary shrug. “He's been so withdrawn since the...since Empok Nor.” Bashir did not miss Nog's nervous shudder. “He only leaves our quarters to open his shop, and I'm fairly certain he's only doing _that_ to avoid me. He won't see a counselor, he hasn't met up with Odo or Ziyal in ages, and he barely talks to me.” Bashir sighed, coming back to himself. “But you two don't want to listen to the worries of an old man.”

Bashir didn't see Nog and Jake exchange a look.

“What if...we could get Garak to talk to someone, to socialize more?” Jake offered hesitantly.

Bashir laughed. “If you can do that, you'll have earned yourselves five liters of anaerobic metabolites suspended in hydrosaline solution.”

–

Garak wasn't surprised when Ziyal came into his shop. He'd sent a message canceling their lunch, but he knew better than to expect that she'd leave it at that.

“Ah, Ziyal. I'm afraid I can't join you for lunch today, I'm in the middle of some urgent commissions that threaten to keep me busy for the next few days.” The lies rolled easily off of his tongue.

Ziyal was not fooled. She rolled her eyes. “Garak, you know I know better than that. Come to lunch with me. Please.”

“Does this insistence that I join you have anything to do with the two young men who have been lurking around my shop today?” Garak asked, shooting a sharp glance at where Jake and Nog were standing on the promenade, attempting to appear inconspicuous.

“Julian has been grumbling about you becoming reclusive to Dax and Chief O'Brien and Captain Sisko. They told Nerys. Nerys told me,” Ziyal explained with a nonchalant shrug.

Garak suppressed a wince. He hadn't realized that his actions were such a commonly discussed subject among the senior staff, although he recognized now that he should have suspected it would be the case considering who he was involved with.

“Look. Garak. I know what you're doing.” Ziyal gave him a warm and sympathetic smile. “You're withdrawing in the hopes that it will cut down on the amount that people talk about you and what happened on Empok Nor. You were trying to make the gossip blow over faster by not feeding the rumors, but surely you can see that it's having the opposite effect. People are talking about you _more_ now than if you were to socialize a little.” She glanced away, clearly considering whether or not she should continue before adding “Besides, you're only causing Julian more pain.”

Garak sighed as he begrudgingly admitted to himself that Ziyal was completely correct. It wounded his pride how transparent he and his motivations had become, not only to Bashir, but to Ziyal as well.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I'll join you for lunch, but I want to make it clear that I'm doing it to put you and Julian at ease.”

“Of course,” Ziyal replied with an amused smile that was only just too sweet to be a smirk.

When Bashir handed the anaerobic metabolites over to Jake and Nog a few hours later, he didn't believe that Garak would continue to socialize more, but it wasn't long before Garak resumed his old schedule of meals with Bashir, Ziyal, and Odo. Bashir mused as he and Garak headed to the Celestial Cafe for their first proper date since Empok Nor, that he felt happier than he had in weeks. Garak felt much the same way. They were truly happy, despite the threat of war looming over their heads.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ameera wrote half of Empok Nor ages ago, so it's really exciting to finally get to post it.
> 
> (And yeah, Jake asked Ziyal for help with Garak, but she wasn't going to tell Garak that.)


	42. Call To Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x26 - Call To Arms

“What are you working on?” Bashir asked as he entered their quarters and saw Garak sketching something on a PADD.

“Don't ask,” Garak groaned.

“I take it it's not a surprise for me then,” Bashir replied lightly as he stepped behind the couch to get a better view over Garak's shoulder.

Garak sighed and angled the PADD towards Bashir. “It's my current design for Leeta's wedding dress. She and Rom couldn't agree on  _anything_ . They were in my shop for over an hour. They went through my entire catalog of one hundred and fifty three wedding dress styles and hated them all. Finally, Ziyal suggested that they just let me design something from scratch, hence  _this._ ”

Bashir chuckled as he stepped around the couch and sat next to Garak, cuddling his partner. “Well, if it's any consolation, I think what you have so far is lovely.”

“Your opinion doesn't count. _You_ were married in your dress uniform,” Garak pointed out.

“And I looked quite good in it,” Bashir replied, pressing a quick kiss to Garak's temple.

Garak rolled his eyes. “That's because you look good in almost everything, dear.” He could feel Bashir grinning at the compliment. “It's allowed you to be lazy and complacent about your clothing.”

“Yes, I just leave fussing about that to you,” Bashir teased.

Garak turned his head and pulled Bashir into a kiss. “And how was your day, my dear?” he asked softly.

Bashir let out a sigh that was an answer in and of itself. Garak raised an eye ridge, but said nothing, so Bashir said “Everyone's on edge right now.”

“Mm. I'm sure the steady stream of Dominion ships going to Cardassia doesn't help,” Garak replied quietly.

Bashir held Garak tighter. “War could break out at any moment,” Bashir murmured.

“And Cardassia will likely be on the opposing side...” Garak leaned back into Bashir's embrace.

A question hung in the air, waiting, until finally Bashir voiced it. “What will you do?”

“Seeing as I'm not considered Cardassian by the head of the current government, I have no choice but to remain by your side.” Garak's answer was simultaneously a teasing joke and a solemn oath.

“I love you,” Bashir said, his voice somber.

“And I love you,” Garak replied. He twisted around in Bashir's grip so that he could better kiss his beloved as they did their best to try to forget about the looming threat of war for a while.

As they cuddled in bed, having relocated when their kisses had gotten more and more desperate and more intense, both of their minds drifted back to the worries of the immediate future.

“If I have to leave the station,” Bashir began softly, his voice heavy with the weight of the subject at hand, “I want you to come with me. Damn the consequences. Damn procedure. I need you to be safe.”

“I'd hardly be safe on a warship,” Garak pointed out. He idly ran his fingers through Bashir's hair and wondered if more gray hairs had appeared in recent months or if he was simply noticing ones that had already been there.

“True,” Bashir conceded. “But at least I'd know where you were, how you were.” There was a pause as Bashir swallowed around the lump in his throat. “When I was in the camp, I would worry that the Changeling had hurt you or arranged some sort of 'accident' because you'd gotten too close to the truth. I usually had Tain or Martok around to give me something to focus on, something to do, but when I was in solitary...” He trailed off, unable to continue.

He didn't need to. Garak understood.

“I'm here,” Garak said, cupping Bashir's cheek and making Bashir look him in the eye. “You're here. We're both safe on the station. Together.”

“I know, Elim,” Bashir gripped Garak's hand with alarming desperation and his eyes were filled with pain. “But I can't go through that again. I can't handle knowing you're in danger and not being able to check that you're okay.”

“You won't have to,” Garak promised. “I said I would remain by your side, Julian, and I meant it. I will follow wherever you go.”

–

With the threat of war growing imminent, Bajor signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion and called for all Bajorans to leave the station.

“I'm sure Major Kira's friends will take good care of you,” Garak said as he walked Ziyal down the promenade.

“What about you?” she asked.

Garak shrugged. “My place is with Julian. I will go where he goes.”

Ziyal nodded, not surprised by the answer. “Be careful,” she said, holding up her hand.

“Stay safe,” Garak replied. He pressed his palm to hers in a chaste farewell. That completed, he glanced around the promenade. “Where is the young Mister Sisko? I would have expected him to be here to say goodbye.”

Ziyal blushed and glanced shyly away. “Oh, we already said our farewells.”

Garak smirked. “Do tell,” he prompted.

“I have to go,” Ziyal deflected, turning toward the airlock. “But I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about after all of this.” She smiled and then pulled Garak into a quick hug, which he lightly returned. With one last grin, she stepped back and joined the line of people going into the airlock.

–

Bashir caught Garak heading back to his shop, and led him into the turbolift, back to their quarters.

“There's a decent chance we'll have to abandon the station,” Bashir said quietly as soon as the doors slid closed. He pulled out the two bags that Garak had insisted they pack when the Dominion threat had started to pick up and placed Kukalaka and a few other belongings inside. “If that happens, I want you to leave. Don't worry about me, we'll find each other later, just focus on making it out alive.”

“Julian, I have a gift for survival. You don't need to worry about me,” Garak said, watching Bashir throw a few more items into his bag before hefting it onto his shoulder.

Bashir smiled sheepishly. “I know, I know. If there's anyone on this station that I don't need to worry about keeping himself safe, it's you.” He took a few steps closer and cupped Garak's cheek with his hand, looking him in the eye. “But I can't help worrying anyway. I love you, Elim.”

Garak leaned in, closing the distance so that their lips met in a tender kiss.

“I love you too, Julian,” he whispered as he pulled back.

Bashir hesitated, clearly longing to pull Garak close to him and hold him there forever, but his duty was more important. Bashir straightened up, tugged on the bottom of his jacket, and left.

Alone, Garak double checked that the second bag had everything he wanted to bring, then picked it up and headed back to the promenade to stash it in his shop.

–

Bashir found himself breathing a sigh of relief when the order to evacuate came through. It meant that the minefield had been activated and they had managed to stop the flow of Dominion reinforcements into the Alpha Quadrant.

He retrieved his bag from his office and headed toward the airlock, making a quick detour to Garak's shop, but the shop was dark and locked and seemingly abandoned. Bashir forced himself to focus on getting himself to safety. Garak would be fine.

He'd barely had time to drop his bag in his new quarters on the Defiant before he was commed by O'Brien, letting him know that Garak was waiting for him in the transporter bay. Immediately Bashir felt relief flood through his body. He let O'Brien know that he was on his way and went to the transporter bay.

Garak stood there, smiling, and Bashir couldn't resist pulling Garak into his arms and crushing their bodies together. Garak was safe. They were together.

“I told you not to worry,” Garak said, his voice half muffled due to his face being buried in Bashir's neck.

“And I told you I couldn't help it,” Bashir replied, reluctantly loosening his hold.

“You might have told me you were planning to bring him, Julian,” Sisko said, making Bashir realize that they weren't alone. “It would have saved the trouble of getting your quarters reassigned.”

Bashir turned toward his old friend, slightly embarrassed at having been told off. “I didn't want to take the risk that you'd have to say no.”

Sisko shook his head, amused. “Surely after all this time you know me better than that. Besides, you never know when you might need a good tailor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 5 is done! And the next few chapters are longer again. Hooray!


	43. In Times of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between the end of season five and the beginning of season 6.

Life on the Defiant was rough. While Garak wasn't fighting off constant panic attacks, the Defiant's more cramped design set him a bit on edge, especially when he wasn't distracted. Bashir had actually managed to coax Garak into discussing what was bothering him, but there was little that could be done medically. All the appropriate medicines that were available carried the risk of addiction and, considering Garak's previous experience with his implant, neither one of them was eager to chance that.

Instead they tried to make do by keeping Garak's mind distracted. He'd already been added to the duty roster and given a station to man on the bridge, but that still left plenty of time for Garak's mind to torment itself. So Garak had taken to lurking around the larger communal areas of ship and going on long walks through the corridors, just to alleviate the feeling of being trapped in their cramped quarters.

Added to this anxiety was the fact that Garak had little to do to occupy his time when not actively on-duty, so Bashir wasn't surprised to find that Garak had begun to lurk around sickbay while Bashir was working. What only slightly surprised Bashir was when he was ambushed on his way to the mess hall for his lunch break and dragged back to his quarters for a very frantic round of sex.

After that Garak began to needle at Bashir more, clearly attempting to pick fights, but it was in the way that was blatant flirting by Cardassian standards and practically gauche for Garak. Sometimes it felt like they couldn’t be in the same room without Garak basically performing the verbal equivalent of shoving his hand down Bashir's pants and asking for a go. And while it was a welcome improvement from earlier when Garak had been tense and slightly withdrawn, it was very distracting when Bashir was trying to get work done. They eventually settled on a compromise to basically stay out of each other's way while on shift. Of course, that only worked when Garak didn't get injured or Bashir wasn’t needed on the bridge. When their on-duty paths did intersect, Bashir resigned himself to being whisked away to the nearest convenient location for a quick round of frantic sex as soon as they were able to get away.

It was after one of these quick entanglements that Garak began to express some of his frustration with himself and the situation.

“I should be able to handle this,” Garak muttered as he pulled his clothing back into place. “A well-ordered Cardassian mind shouldn't fall victim to these sorts of weaknesses.”

Bashir paused in his efforts to restore his clothing. “Elim, this is  _ not _ your fault.”

“I know, I know.” Garak waved his hand dismissively. “And saying that I should be able to control it only makes things worse. I know, Julian.”

Bashir frowned, his uniform shirt still hanging open. “Maybe you should stay behind the next time we stop at Starbase 375. Just for a bit, until we stop in again.”

Garak gave him a sharp look. “Separated from you and surrounded by hostile alien faces? I think not.”

Bashir resisted the urge to embrace Garak and hold him close, knowing that it would likely crowd the Cardassian rather than comfort him.

“No, I'm afraid I'm stuck here,” Garak sighed, doing up Bashir's shirt and jacket easily. “On this ship. With you.”

Despite Garak's irritated tone, Bashir felt a surge of warmth and love in his chest. “Elim,” he said softly, reaching out to try to tame the pieces of Garak's hair that he'd earlier pulled astray. “What would you say to getting married?”

There was a pause as Garak looked him over. “If you're just trying to comfort me-”

“No, it's more selfish than that. I love you and I want to be with you.” Bashir smiled fondly at Garak. “I want to tie my life to yours forever.”

“So you proposed to me in a supply closet?” Garak asked, raising an eye ridge.

_ “You’re _ the one who dragged me to the supply closet and practically threw me inside,” Bashir protested.

“And now I would like to  _ leave _ the supply closet,” Garak replied, a nearly imperceptible shiver running through him.

“Of course.” Bashir quickly stepped through the door with Garak following close behind him.

“When were you thinking?” Garak asked as he took Bashir’s hand and they began to walk back to their quarters.

“Hm?”

“Our marriage,” Garak clarified. “When were you thinking it would take place?”

“Sometime after we retake Deep Space 9.” Bashir smiled, gently squeezing Garak’s hand.

“Not rushing into things then,” Garak scoffed.

Bashir rolled his eyes. “We live together. We’re hardly rushing into anything in any case.” He pulled Garak close as they stepped into the turbolift. “I was thinking a small event in the wardroom, only a few friends. Ben could conduct the ceremony...”

“A standard Starfleet wartime wedding?” Garak teased. “You’re probably going to insist on wearing your dress uniform as well.”

“Well, I had my ideas, but your input is more than welcome. It's your wedding too.” Bashir gave Garak an encouraging grin.

A wistful smile grew on Garak’s lips. “I suppose some Federation influence can’t be helped, but I’d like at least  _ some _ of the trappings of a Cardassian ceremony. You would look lovely in an enjoinment robe.” Garak used the thumb of his free hand to gently stroke around the center of Bashir’s forehead, tracing the edge of where his chufa would be. “And the cru'maih, of course. We’ll have to leave out the speeches about how our union will bring glory to the state, but perhaps we could incorporate some older traditions that have fallen out of favor instead.”

“I’m sure it will be lovely,” Bashir murmured, raising their joined hands to brush a kiss across the back of Garak’s knuckles as the turbolift came to a stop. They stepped out and hurried to their quarters where they could begin planning in earnest.

–

They’d quickly agreed on a small wedding and the guest list had been easy to assemble as well. Most of their friends would return to the station naturally after it was retaken. Bashir’s friend Felix was the only one who would have to really travel, assuming he could even make it.

There was one possible guest idea that gave Garak pause though. Certainly there was no pressure for him to have any family present, since Bashir had vehemently declared that his parents absolutely could not be invited and were not even to be contacted under any circumstances. Yet Garak felt that he should at least extend the invitation to this person, especially since Tain could hardly disapprove seeing as he was dead, and Garak still had no inkling of when he would be able to finally return to Cardassia.

“Would it be alright if I invited someone else?” Garak asked hesitantly. He quickly added “She might not even be able to come.”

“Of course! Invite whoever you want!” Bashir exclaimed with a reassuring grin.

“Tain’s housekeeper, Mila,” he said simply.

Garak could see Bashir’s thoughts travel across his face, the flash of recognition in his eyes, the slight inhale as he recalled who exactly Mila was, the pursing of his lips as he restrained himself from making a particularly effusive comment.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Bashir said, well aware that this was something to be spoken around rather than directly addressed.

–

The next morning, Garak glared at the replicator in frustration. “I know it shouldn't surprise me, but the replicator refuses to produce cru'maih no matter what I do.”

“Cru'maih?” Bashir asked.

“It is traditional for couples to announce their intention to be enjoined by wearing cru'maih around their chufa,” Garak explained. “As I said, I'd like some of the trappings of a Cardassian ceremony and this one goes back to the Hebetians.”

Bashir crossed to Garak's side and flipped through the replicator’s menu. “Well these are the options for makeup. It's not the same but we might be able to make do.”

“We?” Garak asked as he looked through the replicator’s makeup offerings.

“You said it's traditional for couples,” Bashir stated with a small shrug. “I thought I'd do it too.”

Garak settled on a blue cream and went into the bathroom so he could look in the mirror as he traced the makeup around the outside of his chufa. Bashir followed after him.

“It’s not ideal,” Garak grumbled with a sigh, “but, under the circumstances, it will have to do.” He dipped his finger in the makeup again and repeated the motion on Bashir’s forehead, creating the outline of a spoon shape.

“Is that it?” Bashir asked, turning to examine himself in the mirror.

Garak nodded and washed the excess makeup off of his finger. “There’s a similar, though more elaborate ritual we’ll perform during the ceremony itself, but by then I should be able to secure some proper cru'maih. This is simply to mark the engagement.”

“I’m so happy we’re getting married.” Bashir swept Garak into a tender kiss. “I should probably let Ben know, since he’ll be officiating.”

“That  _ would _ be sensible, dear” Garak replied. He reluctantly stepped out of Bashir’s embrace. “I have a shift soon.”

“I won’t keep you,” Bashir said, moving back into the main room of their quarters. “I’ve got to find Ben before I meet Jadzia and Miles for lunch.”

They exchanged a brief farewell in front of the door before going their separate ways.

–

Sisko was in his ready room, reading a PADD with a grim expression on his face. He wearily raised his gaze, but brightened slightly when he saw Bashir’s smile.

“You have good news, I take it?” Sisko asked. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the blue makeup on Bashir’s forehead.

Bashir nodded. “Elim and I have decided to get married, and we’d like you to officiate.”

“That’s excellent news, Julian,” Sisko said with a grin. He stood and embraced his friend. “Did you have a date in mind?”

“I was hoping we could have it on Deep Space 9,” Bashir admitted sheepishly.

A somberness fell over Sisko. “Julian,” he said, cautioningly.

“I know it’s optimistic, Ben, but I have to believe we’ll retake it soon. If I start to think realistically about our chances, my mind starts to calculate the odds and-” Bashir cut himself off with a shiver.

“They’re that bad, eh?” Sisko said grimly.

“I'd rather not think about it,” Bashir mumbled.

Sisko nodded before saying “Well, I'm happy to officiate your wedding.”

Bashir smiled softly. “Thanks, Ben. I really appreciate it.”

Sisko stepped back and waved his hand dismissively.

“I'll let you know when our plans are more solid,” Bashir promised as he moved to leave.

“Oh, and Julian,” Sisko started, catching Bashir off-guard. “A small wedding is the way to go.”

A grin appeared on Bashir's face. “That's what we were planning.”

Sisko smiled back and nodded to dismiss Bashir.

–

It wasn’t hard for Bashir to find O’Brien and Jadzia in the mess hall, and it was impossible for him to keep a smile off of his face as he joined them. Both of them seemed to pick up on his cheer and brightened slightly as well.

Jadzia quirked an eyebrow as she glanced at his forehead, and Bashir had to resist the urge to run his fingers over the mark that was there.

“Spent some quality time with Garak this morning, I see,” Jadzia teased with a grin.

Bashir felt his smile grow even wider. “I asked Elim to marry me yesterday,” Bashir announced. “He said yes.”

“Julian, that’s wonderful!” Jadzia exclaimed.

O’Brien slapped him on the shoulder saying “That’s excellent news!”

After a few moments of delighted congratulations, O’Brien gestured to Bashir’s forehead and said “So that blue mark, that’s…?”

Bashir nodded. “Yes, it’s to announce the engagement. Elim wants to incorporate some Cardassian traditions, so it won’t just be a standard Starfleet wedding.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with a Starfleet wedding,” O’Brien reminded teasingly, bringing out a soft chuckle from Bashir.

“I think it’s exciting,” Jadzia chimed in. “I’ve been through traditional Trill weddings several times, both as a bride and a groom, and I’m a bit tired of them to be honest. The next time I get married, I want to do something different.”

“We’ve still got quite a bit of planning to do,” Bashir cautioned. “So it won’t be happening right away.”

“Just promise you’ll let me throw you one hell of a bachelor party,” Jadzia requested.

Bashir sighed and nodded, knowing there was no way he could hope to stop her. “Try to keep it somewhat restrained. We’re planning a small ceremony.”

Jadzia simply winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cru'maih is our variant on the old bit of fanon where Cardassian engagements and weddings involve blue makeup. In this case, the makeup goes around the outside of the chufa (to distinguish it from the blue coloring that female Cardassians have in the middle of their chufa) after the engagement is agreed upon and is worn until the couple have informed their families and friends. There's a more complicated ritual that takes place during the wedding ceremony itself that we'll describe when we get to it (and the details actually get nailed down).


	44. A Time to Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6x01 - A Time to Stand

The side of Garak’s face ached. He’d arrived in sickbay what felt like ages ago after he was injured during the last assault, only for a flood of other more severely injured patients to come in and push his painful, but not dangerous injury to the bottom of the waiting list. Surrounded by so many people in a space that was already cramped to begin with had started to set off his claustrophobia, a problem that Bashir, thankfully, anticipated and resolved by ushering Garak to a back room and telling him that he was welcome to wait there.

His injury wasn’t even difficult to treat. A little attention from a dermal regenerator and he’d be right as rain, but the angle was such that he couldn’t take care of it himself and he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else besides Bashir tend to him. Not that anyone else had tried.

The swoosh of the door opening alerted Garak to Bashir’s arrival.

“Ah, there you are. I’d just about given up hope, my dear. I would think that our relationship was such that it would’ve entitled me to preferential treatment.” Garak was aware that he was being wholly unfair, but he couldn't keep himself from making the jab.

“Look, I have twelve wounded officers and crewmen out there, all of whom are in a lot worse shape than you, Elim.” Bashir’s tone was firm and commanding, but he was still clearly in doctor mode and not trying to titillate Garak’s Cardassian sensibilities. Unfortunately for Bashir, his rolled up sleeves and open collar combined with his attempt to press Garak into obedience were doing just that.

Garak followed Bashir as he moved around, picking up supplies. “Well, if you’re trying to cheer me up, it’s working,” Garak replied with heavy sarcasm. “I feel better already.”

Bashir sighed and turned away from his task, finally taking a moment to properly notice the state his lover was in. He raised a hand and his fingers twitched as he suppressed the urge to examine the ugly bruise that marred Garak’s face. “What happened?” he asked, his voice inadvertently turning tender.

Garak took the encouragement and explained how he’d been being ever so helpful when he had a violent encounter with a bulkhead.

Bashir pursed his lips, clearly about to suggest something that went slightly against his sense of duty. “I could do a quick run of the regenerator over that. I don’t have time to heal it completely, but it might help with the pain.”

Garak shook his head, refusing the offer. “The pain is bearable.” Garak smirked. “Besides, if you took care of this then I’d have no excuse to linger and tempt you into neglecting your duty for a few brief minutes once this batch of patients clears out.”

_ “Elim,”  _ Bashir said warningly.

Garak stepped forward, crowding into Bashir’s space. “Considering the way this war is going, I want to have as many enjoyable moments with you as possible.” He slid his gaze down Bashir’s exposed neck and deliberately licked his lips.

Bashir stepped back, quickly closing up his uniform shirt and jacket. “I admit the odds are not good, but they could be worse,” he stated, turning back to his task of grabbing various supplies.

“Let me guess. You've used that genetically enhanced brain of yours to calculate our chances of surviving the year.”

That earned him a bit of a glare. Bashir’s enhanced intellect may have become public knowledge and he may have become more obvious in his use of it, but he still didn’t like to have it pointed out, especially when he knew that Garak was just trying to get a rise out of him.

“Well, what _ are _ our chances? Over fifty percent?” Garak pressed on.

_ “Elim.” _ Bashir didn’t quite snap, but he was clearly done being played with.  _ “Stop.” _

Garak didn’t quite manage to look contrite, but he stayed silent.

Bashir let out a sigh. “Look, I’m going to be busy for the next few hours. I don’t have time to treat patients  _ and _ deal with you. Could you just wait for my shift to end before you start this,  _ please?” _

“Julian,” Garak began. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Bashir replied. “I know what you’re trying to do, just… let me finish my shift.” He took a moment to breathe. “We’re both on edge. This war… It’s hard.” Bashir took Garak’s hand, held it up, and interlaced their fingers. “I’ll see you in our quarters later,” he promised.

Garak nodded. “I’ll count the moments,” he said softly.

For the first time since he’d come into the back room, Bashir smiled. It was small, but it was present. 

–

Garak’s fears that he’d pushed too far were assuaged when Bashir entered their quarters. His uniform jacket and shirt had been undone again and his sleeves were still pushed up. Not only that, but Bashir also wore a confident smirk and goaded Garak into a debate that was both scintillating and arousing before finally taking Garak to bed.

They rested a bit afterwards, cuddling on the cramped lower bunk. Garak tucked his head under Bashir’s chin, clinging to his warm body.

“Is that what you had in mind when you tried to proposition me in the sickbay earlier?” Bashir asked, running a hand absently down Garak’s back.

“I was expecting something more frantic,” Garak admitted, kissing one of the marks he’d left on Bashir’s neck. “But this was far better.”

“Don’t take this as encouragement to harass me while I’m on duty,” Bashir warned lightly.

Garak chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

–

The next day, Bashir led Martok through the Defiant to sickbay. He’d just had to deliver the news about the devastation of the Seventh Fleet to Sisko and was looking forward to having some work to keep him distracted.

“So, doctor,” Martok began, “do you have any good news?”

Bashir smiled softly to himself. “Actually, yes. Elim and I have decided to get married.”

“Wonderful!” Martok declared. He likely would have patted Bashir’s shoulder if not for his arm being injured.

“We’re not sure when it will happen because we’d like to have it on DS9, but we’d like you to be there, if you can make it.”

“For you, I’ll do my best. I’m sure my crew will fight twice as hard once they know that your wedding hangs in the balance.”

“Thank you, general,” Bashir replied.

“It’s no trouble, doctor, after all you and Garak both saved my life in that prison camp. It’s only right that I do everything I can to ensure your union.”

Martok and Bashir grinned at each other for a moment, then Martok asked “So what does a Human-Cardassian wedding look like?” and Bashir happily outlined some of their wedding plans.

–

Garak had been strolling absently around the starbase, trying to drive the feelings of claustrophobia from being on the Defiant out of his mind, when he was intercepted by Sisko.

“Ah, Garak. Just the man I wanted to see,” Sisko said. “Has Julian had a chance to talk to you yet?”

Since Garak didn’t know what Julian was supposed to have talked to him about, he shook his head.

“We’ve been assigned a mission deep in Cardassian space. I’d like you to join us, and I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to stay with Julian.”

Garak gave him a searching look. “There’s more to this than a simple mission, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to make sure I’ll go.”

Sisko smirked, unsurprised, then he lowered his voice and explained just what was so special about this mission.

–

And so, Garak found himself on board the captured Jem’Hadar ship, helping Bashir arrange the medical supplies he’d brought on board. The ship had no infirmary, so the supplies would be kept in Bashir’s quarters.

“I wish you were back at the base,” Bashir murmured as their hands brushed. “At least then you’d be safe.”

“True,” Garak replied, “but then I’d be the one worried about your safety. Besides, you didn’t mind me staying on the Defiant.”

Bashir sighed. “It felt different with the Defiant. I don’t know. This feels more dangerous.”

“Exactly why I couldn’t let you go off without me,” Garak stated, taking Bashir’s hand. “At least this way if things go horribly wrong, we’ll be together.” They silently smiled at each other for a moment, then Garak spoke. “Well, I should get to the bridge and try to make myself useful.”

“I’ll join you,” Bashir said. “It’s better than sitting here, waiting for someone to need medical attention.”

–

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Bashir’s medical skills were called upon. The strange headset that Sisko used to guide the ship began causing Sisko a painful headache. Bashir forced Sisko to take a break for a few minutes while he prepped the hypospray.

“There,” Bashir said quietly as he pressed the hypospray to Sisko’s neck. “I wish I had had more time to study the side effects of wearing that headset.”

“At least we know one side effect,” Sisko replied wryly. “Headaches.”

“Well, the headsets were designed to be worn by the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar, not Humans.” Bashir shrugged and stepped away.

Garak took one look at the state Sisko was in and the worry in Bashir’s eyes and was suddenly hit with an idea for how they could possibly work around the problem. “Captain, may I make a suggestion?”

“Only if you talk softly.”

“We saw Dukat wearing one of these headsets during the attack on Deep Space Nine. Perhaps Cardassian physiology is more compatible.”

“Are you volunteering?” Sisko asked, clearly surprised.

Garak glanced at Bashir, noticing that his encouraging smile didn’t hide the concern in his eyes. “I suppose I am.” Garak turned his attention back to Sisko. “This ship is equipped with two of them. If I wore one, then you wouldn't have to. At least, not all the time.”

“I agree with Elim, captain. The less you wear it, the better.” There had been the briefest moment of hesitation before Bashir had spoken. It was so small Garak suspected he was the only one who picked up on it. Of course, they were the only two who were painfully reminded of Garak’s implant failing every time Garak got a headache, the one symptom they knew of caused by wearing the Dominion headsets.

Garak barely had time to adjust to the strange sensation of having a viewscreen in his mind before they were attacked by the USS Centaur and chased over the border into Dominion territory.

–

Everyone was tense as they approached the ketracel-white storage facility. The plan was straightforward: exchange their empty canisters (one of which contained an explosive) for full ones and then get out of range before the bomb went off. Things began smoothly enough, but then the facility raised the security net. They barely managed to escape on the edge of the shockwave as the facility exploded.

“Well, not quite according to plan, but I'm sure Starfleet will be quite satisfied with the results,” Garak quipped.

“I agree, Mister Garak,” Sisko chimed in. “Well done, old man. How bad is it, Chief?”

“It doesn't look good. I'm going to have to switch to auxiliary life support. Deflectors are down, guidance system's shot, and…”

“And what?”

“The core matrix is fried. We don't have warp drive.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” Garak began gently, “but if we don't have warp drive, how long is it going to take us to reach the closest Federation starbase?” Automatically, Bashir’s mind began calculating the answer.

“A long time, Mister Garak,” Sisko stated.

“How long?” Garak pressed.

“Seventeen years, two months, and three days,” Bashir answered. His voice was soft, but it sounded deafening in the silence of the control room. “Give or take an hour.”

–

“Seventeen years,” Garak mumbled when they finally made it back to their quarters.

“I’m sorry,” Bashir replied, removing his uniform jacket and running a hand through his hair. “But the math is correct. The computer even confirmed it. And that estimate ignores that our food supply will run out in-”

_ “Julian,” _ Garak cut in sharply, stopping that train of thought before it could start. He shook his head and smiled. “I just can’t believe that I have to wait seventeen years before we’ll be enjoined.”

Bashir blinked at Garak. “Well, we could have Ben marry us now if you’d like.”

“No, no,” Garak said, waving his hand dismissively. “I want the ceremony, silly as it may seem.” He cupped Bashir’s cheek. “It’s an honor I never thought I’d be able to experience, especially with someone as lovely as you.”

Bashir blushed. “Hopefully we won’t be waiting that long. Miles will repair the engine or communications and we’ll make it back to the Federation.”

“I assume you’ve calculated the odds with that brilliant mind of yours,” Garak teased with a wry smile.

“Maybe,” Bashir replied. “But right now I’d rather not think at all.”

Garak grinned as he pulled Bashir into a passionate kiss.


	45. Rocks and Shoals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6x02 - Rocks and Shoals

When the Jem’Hadar ship crash landed and began to sink into the water, Bashir gave a silent thanks that most of his personal belongings were in storage in a locker back at Starbase 375. It was one less thing to worry about and he could focus all of his attention toward helping the badly wounded Jadzia onto the makeshift raft, and then, with Garak’s help, into the nearby cave.

While Bashir focused his attentions on tending to Jadzia’s injuries, Garak joked with O’Brien, who had torn his pants. The damage would have actually been quite simple to repair if Garak’s tailoring kit hadn’t gone down with the ship.

Soon enough, Sisko left Bashir to tend to Jadzia and turned his attention to survival. He sent out a few of the crew in pairs to search for food and water sources. Garak found himself paired with a skittish Nog, who refused to let Garak out of his sight. Nog’s wariness was due to the events of the incident on Empok Nor, and Garak was pleasantly surprised to discover that Nog wasn't as willing to blindly forgive and forget as many of the other Starfleet crew were.

They'd only just managed to settle that matter when they were captured by Jem’Hadar. and brought before the Vorta, Keevan. Nog, of course, began to simply recite his name, rank, and serial number, standard Starfleet protocol for those captured, but completely useless for getting them out of the situation. Garak naturally fell back on his instincts and began to weave a story about being a Cardassian operative who had been captured by Starfleet. Unfortunately his ruse was easily destroyed by the fact that he’d been wearing a Starfleet communicator when he’d been captured.

“I only have one further question for you,” Keevan stated. He seemed weary of the whole affair. “Is there a doctor in your unit?”

Garak hesitated. If Keevan had asked after anyone else, an engineer or scientist or navigator, Garak would have immediately given that person up. But Keevan had asked for a  _ doctor _ . He had asked for  _ Bashir _ . So Garak hesitated, only for the briefest moment. It was almost imperceptible, certainly Keevan didn’t appear to notice. Then Garak’s mouth opened and he softly spoke a single word: “Yes.”

Garak barely heard Nog’s startled outrage or Keevan’s smarmy dismissal. Garak knew that he’d made the right choice if he expected to survive, to have a sliver of a chance of seeing Bashir again, but he still felt guilty for having made it.

“Why did you do it?” Nog hissed once they’d been relocated to another, deeper part of the cave. “Why did you sell out Doctor Bashir?”

“A regnar makes a poor riding hound.” Garak sighed. “It’s a Cardassian saying meaning one cannot change what one is.” He paused, hoping that Nog would choose to reply, but when he didn’t, Garak spoke again. “It was the best way to ensure our survival. ...And Julian will understand.”

He added the last sentence hesitantly. While he knew it was true, that Bashir would understand why he did what he had done, that didn’t mean that Bashir wouldn’t feel resentment at being handed over to the enemy by his beloved, if Sisko would even agree to a prisoner exchange at all. After all, trading the crew’s only doctor for a Ferengi cadet and a Cardassian spy whose knowledge grew more outdated by the day was hardly a wise strategic decision.

–

Meanwhile, back in the Starfleet camp, Bashir was trying to ignore the growing anxiety in his gut as more and more time passed without news of Garak. Jadzia picked up on Bashir’s worries and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

“He’ll be fine, Julian. If there’s one thing Garak is good at, it’s surviving. He’ll be back before you know it.”

Any further conversation was stopped by the sound of phaser fire. Soon Sisko returned to the cavern with most of the rest of the crew. He began to set up defensive positions when he received word that one of the crew had been approached by a Jem’Hadar soldier who wanted to talk.

After the Jem’Hadar had been sent on his way, Sisko called for Bashir.

“They have Elim,” Bashir said, anticipating the news.

Sisko nodded. “And Nog.”

“What do they want?”

“Myself and a doctor,” Sisko said with a pointed look.

“Why?”

“Apparently the Vorta is badly injured and wants to talk,” Sisko replied.

Bashir nodded to himself. “When’s the exchange happening?”

Sisko smiled at how well Bashir knew him. “It’s in an hour.”

–

They had barely been able to exchange one sentence during the exchanging of prisoners.

While Garak anxiously waited for any news, he attempted to help by tending to Jadzia. It was the least he could do while Bashir and Sisko were away. And Jadzia was a wonderful conversationalist who did as well as could be expected at keeping Garak’s mind off of things.

It was evening when Bashir and Sisko finally returned with plans for the Jem’Hadar attack that would come in the morning. While some of the members of Starfleet were clearly uncomfortable with knowingly mowing down soldiers who didn’t have a chance of winning against them, Garak felt no such constraints.

When things finally started to settle down for the night, that was when Garak and Bashir finally got a chance to be alone. They retreated to a relatively private part of the cave and began to prepare to sleep.

Garak lay down first as Bashir unfurled the survival blanket they were to share.

“I gave you up,” Garak confessed quietly in the dark. “Keevan asked if we had a doctor and I told him we did. I could have made up some story about how our doctor had died in the crash, but instead I told Keevan what he wanted so that I would live.”

Bashir looked down at him, his expression shrouded in shadows. “Elim, it’s alright. I understand.” He knelt down, draping the blanket over Garak’s body. “And you know full well that if the Jem’Hadar had approached us and asked for medical help, I would have gone willingly.” Bashir lay down beside Garak, pulling the blanket over himself.

“I didn’t have to,” Garak murmured. “I was trained to deal with torture. I could have held out for a rescue.”

Bashir cupped Garak’s jaw. “And what if Keevan didn’t have the patience for torture and just had you and Nog executed? In the end all those possibilities don’t matter because you’re here with me. Elim, stop being so hard on yourself. It’s in the past.”

“But-” Garak was cut off by Bashir’s thumb brushing across his lips.

“Elim. It’s fine. We’re both safe. I’d rather we enjoy that than you hold yourself accountable for something that’s not your fault.” Bashir quickly kissed Garak before rolling over. “Now, let’s get some sleep.”

–

The night passed all too quickly and before long it was morning. Everyone was grim as they prepared for the Jem’Hadar to attack. The information Keevan had given them proved to be correct and it was pathetically easy to massacre the Jem’Hadar as they knowingly charged to their deaths. The Jem’Hadar were wiped out with only one Federation casualty.

While the bodies were being taken care of and O’Brien set to work on repairing Keevan’s communications system, Bashir led their prisoner into the cave to a place near Jadzia and the medical supplies so he could check Keevan’s internal injuries with a tricorder. Garak hovered nearby with his phaser, watching Keevan for any sign of betrayal.

“Everything seems to be improving,” Bashir reported. “As long as you’re careful, you should make a full recovery in a few weeks.”

“I’m sure it will be even sooner once you have proper medical equipment,” Keevan stated. Even by Vorta standards, he seemed particularly smarmy.

Bashir’s expression drew tight, the barest hint of a disapproving frown starting to peek out from behind his professional mask. “You could have ordered the Jem’Hadar to surrender. I could have sedated them.”

“But they might not have listened. Already they were starting to disobey my orders. This method was far more secure and practical.” Keevan smiled an oily smile as his eyes slid to Garak. “This one understands that sometimes you have to sacrifice others in order to survive.”

Garak kept his gaze steady and refused to rise to the bait.

Bashir stepped back towards Garak as another officer walked over. “Ah, Lt. Neeley,” Bashir greeted. “I’ve finished checking the prisoner. He should be fine as long as he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Bashir gave Keevan a sideways glance. “Like trying to run away.”

Keevan shrugged. “There’s nowhere on this planet I’d rather be than in your capable hands, doctor.”

“I’ll take him from here, sir,” Neeley said.

Bashir nodded his thanks as she led the Vorta deeper into the cave. It was going to be a long few days until they were rescued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, life has started taking up more of my time (i.e. I have a full-time job now), which means less of my time is going to writing. So to hopefully allow myself to keep writing faster than chapters get posted, I'm going to change the update schedule for this fic to once every 3 weeks now. I'll see you in the next update!


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